“The Lobster Claw... still crowded while everyone tries to visit them before they also close. We always hope they will stay open until the first of November, and it is a melancholy day when the signs go up -- CLOSED.”

-- Gladys Taber,  in “Autumn ” in  My Own Cape Cod (1970)

During the 2019 summer season, The Lobster Claw restaurant, in Orleans, on Cape Cod, seemed to be heading for a celebration of half a century of serving patrons under the ownership of Don and Marylou Berig.

But a few weeks ago, on Aug. 24, the owners posted a message on social media with this surprising news: The “Last Suppah” would be served on Sunday, Sept. 13. The CLOSED sign was going up for good. There would be no more Novembers.

The Lobster Claw was more than a restaurant. And it was more than a “landmark” -- the worthy appraisal given by The Cape Codder, a local weekly newspaper. Through sheer endurance, it was a link between the Olde Cape and the Cape in 2020. Between Patti Page of 1950s and Great Whites.

That is important because history is under assault today. History needs preservation, not cancellation. Even benign history, like a restaurant.

In a world changing so much, The Lobster Claw defined constancy, as so very little changed about it over 50 years. (The same menu design -- a lobster claw cutout -- had been used since the early 1970s; the same radio commercial ran over the Cape airwaves for nearly 35 years.

What in anyone’s life is consistently stable, familiar and friendly? That may account for part of this establishment’s success and its charm. People today cling to the precious few things that don’t change that much, seeking a kind of psychological safe harbor. The Lobster Claw was one of those ports of call. A refuge from the storm -- figuratively and literally. (On Aug. 19, 1991, it was the only restaurant to open in the entire area -- the entire Cape lost power -- as an unwelcome guest, Hurricane Bob, slammed the peninsula; the owners had obtained gas generators before the storm, perhaps anticipating what became their busiest day ever, serving over 1,000 meals.)

The Lobster Claw was steeped in history.

The building that houses the business is over 100 years old. It originally was two separate structures; they were fused together in the 1960s. Their uses were very Cape-centric. For many years, the building on the south side was a wood mill while the other was an old cranberry barn. Train tracks terminated on the northern side of the building allowing the harvest to be hauled off Cape (rain from a northeast gale would sometimes seep through an old sliding door -- used during cranberry-processing seasons --  until it was replaced about 20 years ago). Later modifications allowed for more operating space and gave it a distinctive and unifying presence. A maroon-and-white trim also gave it a warm feel. The dual-gabled roof  rather resembled a house. Families would  feel at home there. It was hospitable. That was a good starting point.

Sitting down with Don Berig over several days before the final close was an exercise in revelation. I have known him for nearly 35 years; I worked for the him for three summers during the halcyon days of the late 1980s); our respective families have known each other for close to 40 years (most of my family has been in its employ at different stages spanning over 30 years. Berig was tough, fair and quite generous, qualities that have endured for decades. He is more wistful now; nostalgia, gratitude and relief crept over his weathered tanned face and into his Boston-accented speech as I chatted with him. He was running on adrenaline, not exhaustion; the latter would come later. Still, at 81, he showed more energy than most twenty-somethings.

When asked  why he decided to enter a business fraught with failure, he simply answered: “I guess I always wanted to be an entrepreneur.”

The Lobster Claw has been in existence since at least 1963, when it was owned by Iver Johnson. He sold it to Russ Fletcher in 1965. During this time Berig had been the restaurant’s accountant. His father’s accounting business, D. David Berig & Co., out of Boston, served small businesses on and off the Cape, including many restaurants. Fletcher himself was in his mid-60s and had no relatives. According to Berig, Fletcher approached him to buy the business in 1968. Finally, after some fits and starts, Berig became owner on Jan. 3, 1970. The new decade began with the country still mired in the Vietnam conflict and the Dow Jones Industrial Index closing just above 800. The new Lobster Claw opened that year just days before the Beatles broke up.

The exacting science of accounting gave Berig at least one competitive advantage. Like any business, restaurants are about numbers at their core. If the numbers don’t add up  the business can’t survive. It’s that simple. So, every single day every delivery was counted and every fish and every bushel was weighed. He would only pay for what was delivered. Data, not desires, drove decisions. That was a big part of the strategy.

There was another important experience.

From 1944 to 1964, Berig’s family had owned and operated a fish market in  the Allston section of Boston. He began cutting and weighing all sorts of local fish when he was 13 at the Harvard Seafood Shoppe (now a Korean restaurant). A man who knew math and fish was off to a good start with owning his own seafood restaurant.

Don figured that  he would assess things in 1980, when the mortgage would be paid off. That is, if things went well.

Despite having two important factors in Berig’s favor, two others would lend themselves to help the business, too. In fact, they were critical factors to ensuring its success: a Yankee work ethic (presumably inherited from his father, whose formative years were during The Great Depression; he retired at age 89) and a little luck.

The restaurant would open April 1 and usually close in late October, convenient in that it by-passed the bulk of accounting season. Still, for much of Berig’s career during summer months he would leave the Cape on Monday nights for Boston and return by 5 p.m. on Wednesday afternoons to cook. It was a grueling routine. Berig was a chef-owner before the phrase was coined. He knew that the Cape’s  summer season demanded that business operate at maximum efficiency. A grinding work ethic was an absolute necessity. As Berig calmly says, without a hint of hyperbole, “most successful entrepreneurs don’t have days off.” 

But Berig was also benefitted from something beyond his control, unforeseen by many in the early 1970s: the intersection of favorable logistics and demographics on Cape Cod.

Before the 1960s, the Cape was a quaint peninsula with a modest tourism trade. Two seeming unrelated events allowed tourism to flourish while keeping much of its natural beauty intact. The Interstate Highway System was authorized in 1956, and the Cape Cod National Seashore was created in 1961. It also helped that Patti Page’s 1957 hit song “Old Cape Cod’’ extoled the virtues of the Cape, and President John F. Kennedy’s summer home graced the shoreline in Hyannis Port.

For The Lobster Claw the effects of these developments weren’t fully realized until the 1970s and 1980s. It was now much easier to drive to the Cape from points west inside and outside of New England. By 1974, the last part of the I-195 extension from Providence to Route 25 in Wareham was completed; in 1987, the final connection diverted traffic out of congested downtown Wareham to the end of I-495. A booming economy in the 1980s and 1990s fueled more visitors and more economic growth. On top of all this, between 1976 and 2000, the average working American took off more than 20 days a year for vacation (today, that number is roughly 13). Finally, as if more luck were needed, the Cape’s year-round population was growing rapidly and could sustain much new business outside July and August.

Alas, Neptune and Mercury -- Roman gods of the sea and commerce, respectively -- could not have delivered better blessings.

Business exploded.

When Berig took over he endeavored to make improvements prudentially over time. He winces now, recalling that frozen fish was served with frozen potato salad on paper plates before he bought the place. So, making the experience better for customers was a priority but would happen gradually, all within a sensible budget while maintaining a reasonable profit margin. Competition would also push those efforts.

One early competitor was a worthy one and just up the street. Within eyesight of The Lobster Claw stood a Howard Johnson’s restaurant. Opened in 1935, that particular Ho-Jo’s was already famous because it was the first franchised operation in what would become a food and lodging empire. But the destructive creation of capitalism lead to one of two outcomes for businesses: growth or death. In 1979, Howard Johnson’s surrendered to the second outcome. The Orleans location was sold to its local general manager and later renamed Adam’s Rib.

Nonetheless, being neither national or local, the Berig family needed a value proposition that could be marketed with broad-based appeal -- to both townies and tourists alike. The Lobster Claw saw itself as “cheerful,” “immaculate” and “unpretentious.” Those three words captured a narrative. Its very own credo. A daily, if not zealous, execution of those three words gave the credo a kind of street cred.  

Enter clever promotion.

From the beginning, Berig deployed a novel marketing campaign on the local radio station, WVLC (1170-AM, 104.7-FM). Instantly memorable, his two daughters, Wendy, and Karen, then  5 and 6, respectively, were showcased in radio hits professing their love of fruits of the sea and promoting their parents’ new venture. They would also participate in the town’s annual Fourth of July parade. Later, in the mid-‘80s, a radio jingle was written that ran right up to shortly before the restaurant closed. Other ads featured longtime employees thanking them for their service. In subsequent years, ads appeared in print and on television, and, most recently, on the Internet. And, as you might expect, advertising was strictly budgeted. No more than 5 percent of revenue could be spent on marketing.

Early on, this business was a family affair. If you were a repeat customer -- many were for decades -- chances were good that you knew someone serving you. That helped affirm stability and durability. Many worked there for decades. Marylou’s brother, Skip Schade, joined in 1970 fresh out of the Army and stayed for over 20 years. Wendy Berig, who could not see above the kitchen counter when she began recording radio ads, pitched in during the entire last week of operations, tending bar, washing dishes, hosting customers. Lucille Eldredge was a holdover from 1963; legend has it that she was more precise than an electronic scale in measuring servings for lobster meat (3.5 ounces). And hostess emeritus Diane Wade -- who is like family -- was a gift from the late 1960s. She only retired last year, at 89.  

A hallmark of the Lobster Claw was modesty. It set out to be “unpretentious” and lived up to that ideal to the point where it was part of the culture. In 2020 vernacular that translates to “staying in your lane.” There was never an urge to be anything other than a family restaurant. Things were kept simple. Like the décor.

The interior was nautical-themed, done tastefully, not kitschy. Wooden lobster pots acted as tray holders and netting hung from the ceiling. These obvious accoutrements were offset by framed aerial photos of the Cape coastline. The murals were painted by the late  Bob Guillemin, otherwise known as “Sidewalk Sam,” one of Boston’s best-known artists. He was commissioned for the work in the 1970s. Now, they are being preserved.

And this cannot be overstated: The owners prepared food and drink that was to be enjoyed, not studied and dissected -- like so much of modern cuisine today. Fried haddock would not be a gastro artsy architectural project. They served clambakes, not concoctions. The kitchen made lobster rolls of the classic Cape Cod variety (think unembellished). The restaurant  included a kids’ menu (with Jell-O). It served full entrees and just appetizers, such as steamers and mussels. It welcomed rehearsal dinner parties and parties of one. Shirley Temples  co-existed with Lime Rickeys. Fittingly, guests were encouraged to “Talk Loud, Eat Well, Laugh Often.” And they did. 

Restaurants, mind you, are not exclusively about absolute numbers; they are also about relative change.

Of course, The Lobster Claw embraced some change. But not too much. Most of the changes involved expanding customer comfort, facilitating growth. 

One experiment in the 1970s was initially thought to be a disastrous failure. For two years no one came for the “Early Bird Special” from 4 p.m. to 5:30 p.m. (chowder, beverage and dessert). An advertising boost solved the problem and the initiative proved to be wildly successful.  

In the early 1980s, the unused second floor in the north building was converted to “Surfboat Lounge.” A 30-foot replica of a Coast Guard rescue craft was built as the centerpiece bar to accommodate a surge in business. Back then one-hour waits were commonplace. (Most nights were controlled chaos but other nights were utter chaos.) The Berigs were also pioneers in merchandising; they added an in-house gift shop around the same time. Air-conditioning  was finally installed in stages in the mid-1990s.

Other changes were more subtle but just as consequential. Sometime in the 1980s waitresses wore polyester fire-engine red polo shorts but Marylou detected something wrong. The shirts set the wrong tone, the ambience of the dining rooms started to seem hurried, aggressive, even; they were also uncomfortable to maneuver in, noticeably so, by diners. Those shirts were replaced with ones with softer colors and different fabrics and in that and other ways the balance was brought back, and  a more relaxed environment returned. Over the years she also effected menu changes, reflecting the dietary adjustments of Americans. Don Berig may have been the head of the business but Marylou Berig was always its heart and soul. If Don was about data Marylou was about direction. It was a good partnership.

Just one person was given special status in 50-plus years of Berig ownership. Table number nine facing what is now the Stop & Shop complex -- by that old sliding door -- was reserved for lunch each day. Martinis at the ready. That privilege was accorded to the late Gladys Taber. She was an author of 59 books and a columnist for Ladies’ Home Journal and Family Circle. She died in March 1980. She would recognize the Lobster Claw today but probably not the restaurant industry. Consider: touch screens in place of personal touch, and Facebook pages in place of the Yellow Pages.

COVID-19 did not close The Lobster Claw. Rather, acceptance of the passage of time did. “It’s time to go,” the perennial proprietor said. It was time to retire. Facemasks and social distancing aside, the business has been functioning about as normally as one could expect, vibrant but downsized. Labor Day weekend recalled lines and waits as if were the 1980s all over again. But it had been a challenge. Always adapting to the times, the Berigs converted the gift shop to dining space this year. It allowed for more dining space and helped ensure that safety protocols were adhered to.

Conservative estimates suggest that the global pandemic has resulted in the permanent closure of 20 percent of all restaurants in  Massachusetts so far. Devra First, Boston Globe food writer and restaurant critic, believes that the industry is on the precipice. Just as problematic are grandiose ambitions and expectations for new eateries. Restaurants today, like musical acts, aren’t allowed to grow and develop. Their impatient owners feel that must be stars from the start. Further complicating matters are the tricky financial structures used to launch them. Like too much debt financing.  

Cape restaurants have not been immune from these events either. But Cape restaurants in particular have -- and will continue to have -- unique challenges. A big problem is labor. Getting workers is a struggle. There is a confluence of reasons: greater affluence on the Cape, a  weakening of  the work ethic amongst some, family and sports commitments, internships and earlier start times for colleges -- before Labor Day weekend.

Thirty years ago most of the Berigs’ staff were local people and college kids. But in 2020, the backbone of his workers were Jamaican. Years ago most staff were from Eastern Europe and Ireland. The owners have high praise for their formers employees, many of whom have become like part of an extended family. Undoubtedly, the H-2B program has been helpful over the years on hiring help. The program allows temporary work visas for foreign workers with job offers for seasonal, nonagricultural work in the U.S. (between 2,500 and 3,500 workers participate annually on the Cape in normal times). But the administrative requirements are enormously time-consuming, expensive and complex.

The Aug. 24 post announcing the final close brought a massive response.    

Local, regional and national media picked up the story. Facebook users shared stories, expressed sadness, recalled fond memories. Upon hearing the news, some traveled hundreds of miles to have one more meal. Inquiring callers asked the best time to come. Regulars came and went as usual. Diners sought out the owners to express their appreciation. Former employees returned to give their best wishes. It was a proper sendoff.

Don and Marylou Berig are tired now. In the three weeks before the final order was placed, they remained goodwill ambassadors, greeting, listening  and thanking the legions of well-wishers. Smiles diverted tears.

The Berigs look back and marvel at the sacrifice, struggle and success. There’s been no playbook. However, if anyone could come close to drafting an owner’s manual on serving several generations of diners for over half a century, they would be among those to do it.

Zero hour arrived. The incomparable Berig brand of hospitality reached its conclusion.

The hydrangeas had turned purple-rust. The winds had shifted southward. The crickets chirped defiantly. The doors closed. For good.

Life comes full circle. Just days before the restaurant closed, Rolling Stone magazine’s September issue featured the Beatles on its cover (remember, they broke up days after it opened in 1970). The sub-headline reads, “The Heartbreak, The Brotherhood, and Why the Music Matters 50 Years Later.” Family and friends will be substituting memories of the Lobster Claw for music.   

James P. Freeman, a former financial-services executive, is a New England-based writer. He is a former columnist with The Cape Cod Times and New Boston Post. His work has also appeared in The Providence Journal, The Cape Codder, Cape Cod Life, newenglanddiary.com, golocalprov.com, nationalreview.com and insidesources.com.