Richmond’s Depot Restaurant to close after nearly 50 years of drawing regulars

The worn stools, tables and booths at The Depot Restaurant in Richmond aren’t just places to sit and eat.

They belong to the regulars: farmers, truckers, construction workers, seniors, generations of families. They all have seats, their seats.

For decades, they’ve come, many daily, for the coffee, the food and one another. Because the main draw through the years always has been the conversation.

“We’re known for breakfast, but I think more than anything it’s the gathering of people,” owner Susan Cherry said between sips of coffee as she sat on her end stool at the counter. “I think that’s what we’re known for.”

On May 31, after nearly 50 years of business, The Depot will close. The restaurant will “go out with a blast,” offering free mimosas and throwback prices on May 29.

Cherry started as a shy waitress at the restaurant 45 years ago.

“You’re a good waitress, but you have to start talking more,” her boss at the time, the late Frank Cherry, told her. He eventually became her husband. “The people who come here can eat anywhere,” he had said. “They want to come somewhere where they can talk to people.”

Like The Depot – an actual train depot moved from Solon Mills to its spot along Route 12 and transformed into a restaurant in 1972 – the couple became a fixture in town.

As heart problems prevented Frank Cherry from running the business, his wife took over. Starting at ages 6 and 7, their now grown daughters helped out. Later, their grandchildren pitched in. And ever since Frank died several years ago, customers have done their part to keep the business going.

Now open from 4.30 a.m. to lunchtime daily, The Depot used to be open 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

“Every member of my family has worked here at one time through the years, including my grandkids, my nephews, my mother, brothers, sisters in law,” Cherry said, her voice cracking a bit.

“It’s very emotional,” she said as she looked around the place her husband created. A photo of him with his grandchildren hung nearby.

“My husband, he could fix anything,” Cherry remembered. “I never saw anything that the man couldn’t fix. This is an old building, and our equipment is old. He kept everything running.”

When he died, Cherry said she tried to hold on as long as she could. She nearly closed when the COVID-19 pandemic hit, but she wanted to make sure her loyal employees would be able to find jobs. So she held on a bit longer.

But now, she said, the time has come.

“I just felt like it was time to do it,” she said. “It’s just too hard to keep everything going.”

Cherry rents the building from a corporation that also owns the nearby gas station. When they took ownership about 15 years ago, she said, they talked about demolishing the building, but decided to let her stay as long as she wanted.

Now, she said, she thinks the simple, rectangle building with its faded “Depot signs,” truck-filled parking lot and regulars peering out the windows, will be torn down.

What the restaurant has meant to her family, including her employees and customers, will remain.

“Tradition,” said regular customer Ben Jacobs, “and unlimited coffee.”

“We usually try to get out of here in two hours so we don’t get charged rent,” Bob McDonald of Spring Grove said with a laugh.

The two sat in a corner of the restaurant known as the “farmers’ corner,” a spot for early morning breakfast gatherings for decades.

They talk weather, tractors for sale, their health, their “problems.”

If someone doesn’t show up one day, they check on each other, said retired Spring Grove Fire Chief Rich Tobiasz, who’s been coming regularly for decades.

It’s simply the place to go.

It’s the place where biscuits and gravy, coffee and memories are made daily, where those without anywhere to go could come for free Thanksgiving dinners. (The free Thanksgiving dinners began after Frank pulled through from his first heart attack, Cherry said. “It was like if anybody had anything to be thankful for, it was us.”)

It’s the place for toy drives, fundraisers, cooking classes for children and free middle-of-the-night meals for firefighters.

Cherry would get up to have food ready after fires in town, sometimes even delivering food to the fire station.

Over the years, The Depot became the heart of a community.

“We tried…” Cherry began as she fought back tears, “… to be good community members.”

“I never thought about it as doing for the community,” she later added. “It was just being part of the community.”

Regulars showed their devotion during the pandemic when they lined up their cars and trucks in the parking lot just to get their morning chat in through open windows. Later, picnic tables were added.

“This is a family thing,” said George Thompson of Wonder Lake, sitting in the farmers’ corner. “We care about each other.”

“Depends on the day,” added Craig DeYoung of Twin Lakes, Wisconsin, with a laugh.

Jacobs pointed out a stool where he got hired for a job years ago. Others remembered the many business deals that went down over eggs and hash browns.

They all laughed and teased one another about who’s older and how their wives will need them to find another place to go in the mornings so they’re not home. They have no idea where they’ll go now, they said.

“The only reason you guys are here is because nobody will put up with you,” Cherry joked from her side of the restaurant.

Rising to the sound of a 2:37 a.m. alarm daily, Cherry would head to the restaurant to start the biscuits, the soups, the specials of the day and, of course, the coffee. Through the years, she’s waited on adults who first came into the restaurant in baby carriers.

The week after the restaurant closes, she said she’s heading with her 11-year-old grandson for a week-long visit to Gettysburg National Military Park.

After that?

“I have no clue,” she said, pausing a bit, “whatsoever.”

But, she said, “I don’t think I’m going to set my alarm anymore.”