Kewpie's

May 4, 2026

Greetings from the first bite,

I stood in the line, which was longer than I expected. Edging forward behind a group of guys in hardhats and reflective vests.  They muttered to each other, trying to remember what they were to order for absent coworkers.  Onion rings? A Boston Cooler?

Behind me the line grew, a haphazard serpentine, then stretching out the door onto the sidewalk. More than a lunch rush, this was a bit of a reunion.

When friends who have moved away come back to Flint, one of the stops is usually Halo Burger. It has been a fixture in our city for all my life, and for a couple generations before.  Like every other business in our town, it has seen its share of challenges.  It’s hard to track how often it’s closed or changed hands, but somehow it has stubbornly held on. Then last year it suddenly closed again, and like before, I felt like this was the last time.

It has been Halo Burger for over fifty years, but we’ve always called it ‘Kewpie’s’, which is how it started.  A narrow greasy spoon wedged onto Harrison Street back in the 30’s, serving up burgers and coneys to the workers downtown.  By the time I was old enough to care it was relocated to the old Vernors outlet on the main drag through downtown.  No matter what other locations opened, this is where I would always picture Kewpie’s.

I took another step forward, craning my neck around the guys in front of me to gauge our progress.  I didn’t need to look at the menu sign above the register.  I already knew what I was having. The noise level went up, more people crowded through the door.

It was a surprise to me to read the place had reopened, again.  I asked myself the same thing everyone seemed to wonder: Will it be the same?  The fresh ground beef made to order, the toppings piled so thick you couldn’t get your mouth around for the first bite, the olives spilling onto the wrapper on your tray.

When I was in elementary school at St. Matthews, just a few blocks away, Father O’Malley used to take the stragglers from the basketball team over to the Halo Burger bakery after practice.  By that time of day the cookies and donuts were half off.   The bakery is gone now, to make room for parking, but I still look for it every time I come.

The parking lot is narrow, barely room for a few cars and now to allow space for the drive through.  But the main attraction there isn’t a place for your car, it’s the Vernors mural.  Three stories tall, painted almost a hundred years ago, we were so used to it we hardly appreciated what we were seeing.

After a night of prowling the pubs downtown, Hat’s and Doobie’s usually, we would often stop at Halo Burger and load up on olive burgers and fries and a giant Vernors.  We would sit at the window and make plans for our next adventures. I brought dates here for an inexpensive meal.  A few blocks away is the Capitol Theater, a natural destination before or after. 

Other places that have gone. Burger Chef, Heap Big Beef, even the iconic Angelo’s Coney Island, all dissolved by the vagaries of the economy and the flood of national chains.  Somehow Halo Burger, Kewpies, clung to life.  A few sputters, someone does CPR, and here it is again. Another grand reopening.  I wonder what will have changed, what will be the same.

I can feel the residue of history.  The place is clean, but it will never be free of all of the grease from millions of burgers, the mud and snow tracked in by people coming for lunch, the spilled drinks, the splattered ketchup, the sweat. There are fingerprints everywhere, including mine.

Outside the line pooled on the sidewalk, people trying to look in the windows. The cars in the drive through formed a line into the alley and around the block. It’s hard to know how much of this is the need for a burger joint in the city, or how much people missed Kewpie’s. Will it be the same?

I place my order and wait.  Someone in the back puts a patty on the grill. The fries sizzle.  I wait, and maybe it’s few minutes but it’s forever.  And then someone says my name, and I take my order to one of the booths. The seats are red vinyl, caved in a bit from countless backsides, and I slide in, already eating a French fry.  I unwrap my burger.

I am twelve, here for a special occasion with my parents.  I am sixteen with a girl who didn’t say no when I asked.  I am eighteen with Wolfe and the Perrine’s, hovering over a late-night meal. I am forty, sitting with my sisters who came back from California, and just had to have an olive burger.

Mmm. Yes, it’s the same.

Hope this finds you tasting history,

David

This essay was written by the author and does not include Ai content.

Copyright © 2026 David Smith