A Greek Tragedy? Plaza Cafe Owner Sees 'Doomsday' in His Future

An old joke, often passed around dinner tables with a side of lamb, has it that Greek descendants can live easy and own restaurants after having made their great contributions to the world.

The pillars of science, math and representative government withstanding, anyone who seriously believes that running a restaurant in this economy is a relaxing experience hasn’t met Tom Demacopoulos, owner of Plaza Cafe. The difficulty only intensifies when, like Demacopoulos, you’re located in the Orland Park Plaza.

Since word first came down in 2008 that on which his business sits, “it’s been many sleepless nights,” Demacopoulos said from the back of his near-empty dining room as noon approached.

“Doomsday is coming,” he added, the sunlight shimmering off his gold chain. “I just don't know when.”

Hardest for Demacopoulos is being caught between competing forces and without apparent end like some sort of Sisyphus, the ill-fated mythic mortal who spent an eternity pushing a boulder up a mountain. Years have passed, and the village and landowners have yet to .

“I'm not totally against the (Main Street Triangle) project,” he said. “I think that it would be a great project for Orland and its people, but I just feel like I'm the innocent bystander. What did I do? You know, I came here with a dream and vision, too, which I wanted to provide for my family.”

Friends Gather Here

After decades of selling food wholesale, Demacopoulos purchased the interests of the Plaza Cafe in 2005. His cousin, writer and actress Nia Vardalos, visited the shop a year later and greeted fans over a veggie panini. Several autographs with messages ascribed to Demacopoulos and his wife Cristina now hang on the restaurant walls alongside various diner kitsch, scraps of coloring books and a sign declaring “Friends Gather Here.”

From the outside, tucked quaintly between two non-descript store fronts, Demacopoulos' restaurant looks diminutive and unassuming. Inside, it stretches across two dining rooms like an urban cavern.

These days Demacopoulos, 49, can’t walk more than a couple feet in the front room without stopping to shake hands and catch up. His daughters are easy to spot. They literally shadow him about, busing an occasional table for extra dollars to be spent later on candy.

“It's not all about the food,” said Demacopoulos, who boasts of working every day of the year except Christmas. “This is a people business, and I try to explain this to all of my employees that yes you have to be clean, yes you have to have good service, yes you have to have good food—great food. But sometimes you have to have some humility, where you have to go to the person and connect with them, and that's all they want. People are lonely."

He smiled. “But I would die without that. If you told me I had to be stuck in the kitchen or stuck in the office, I'd die. That's not me.”

On one particular trip to the cash register, Demacopoulos asked a retiree about his morning.

“It’s just one of those Wednesdays,” the man said, his expression waning, the room suddenly becoming quiet.

“It’s Tuesday,” a waitress called out.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” the man said laughing and looking instantly cheered. 

Rites and Rebirth

The cheer drains out of Demacopoulos’ own demeanor the instance he’s asked about the future.

Contributing to his sleeplessness are thoughts that his customers will find another restaurant they like better; that when he closes this one he’ll put eight people out of work; and that he needs to raise hundreds of thousands of dollars to re-establish himself.

And then there are the four children, ages seven to 15, to provide for. His wife works full-time in Hickory Hills, where they live, but she also helps out at the restaurant. Demacopoulos was in the middle of installing an electric cash register with a point of sale data system—to review menu trends—when his attorney told him of the impending eminent domain lawsuit and advised that he not finish the project, no matter how crucial.

“I knew what I was getting into,” he said of the restaurant business. “But now with an uncertain future it kind of makes you feel like, man, was it all worth it? Am I just going to get tossed to the curb? I have memories. But with having four kids—memories don't pay the bills.”

Much like the owners at neighboring —who are expected to close their doors in early August—Demacopoulos has had to patch ailing equipment, rather than purchase new, and forgo even basic remodeling plans for fear of wasting money. The roadwork on 143rd Street and LaGrange Road is only the latest weight pulling at his bottom line.

Demacopoulos is grateful that the village, if not the landlords, has kept him up to date on legal matters. But he discredits them both for not having reached a “speedy remedy.”

“Everybody’s tight-lipped about (the potential settlement), but I just want what's fair," he said. "I just want enough so I can go to another location…I don't want more than I'm entitled to.”

The definition of “fair” and "entitlement"—intricate and often esoteric—is likely what’s holding up both sides and their attorneys. And yet anyone with the tenacity to run a restaurant knows it's not all about money. As Albert Camus once wrote about Sisyphus, “The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart.”

“It's been hard,” Demacopoulos said of the last six years, “it's been a great ride. I just want to make sure the village and the landlord be fair enough with me so I can continue what it is I wanted to start.

“I feel extremely confident, and I am optimistic, although I'm cautiously optimistic and nervous, but I think we will continue.”

To find out where the Plaza Cafe moves, stop by the shop and write your e-mail address on the list near the cash register. Demacopoulos said that he has gathered 1,000 e-mails already and promises not to use them for any other purpose but his own promotion.