For 65 years, Andy Bryant has made diners feel at home at Morrison’s Cafeteria. At 92, he’s still on the job.
His nametag tells part of the story: Morrison’s Family Dining. Andy Bryant. Proudly serving since 1961.
On Saturdays, Bryant fills drinks and keeps an eye on his tables at the last restaurant with the Morrison’s name. He wears a gold watch and ring, gifts of appreciation for his years of service.
For generations of Morrison’s customers, Bryant has been part of the ritual: Sunday lunch after church or Mass, a weeknight meal with family or a stop after a day of shopping. “It was jumpin’ back then,” he says. “Church turned out, and everyone came to Morrison’s. There was a line out the door until we closed.”
Bryant has slowed down but isn’t quitting. “I’m 92 years old now,” Bryant says. “My doctor told me to keep moving. So, I keep working and being friendly. That’s what’s in me.”
That drive to keep moving came from his family. His father farmed roughly 60 acres outside Selma, where Bryant grew up as one of 14 children. Everybody worked.
“We raised everything but money,” he says.
There were chickens, cows and hogs. They grew okra, peanuts and sweet potatoes.
“We didn’t have time to sit down,” Bryant says. “Mama made us work and stay on the right road.”
Several of Bryant’s older brothers served in World War II and later attended college on the GI Bill. Bryant went straight to work bagging salt, running machinery on a cane farm and installing lockers at Craig Air Force Base. One by one, jobs ended or businesses closed.
“Everything started fading away,” Bryant says.
Then came Morrison’s.
One of Bryant’s brothers was already working at the downtown cafeteria. In 1961, he called: There’s an opening — come on down. The job was Bryant’s.
Bryant started at 65 cents an hour and never left.
The first Morrison’s Cafeteria opened at the corner of Conti and St. Emanuel streets. The company grew into a Southern institution, with over 150 locations at its peak.
The friendships kept Bryant there.
“Everyone loved each other at Morrison’s, and the customers were so friendly,” he says. “They still come in and holler at me.”
Some of his favorite memories are from Mardi Gras, when the downtown cafeteria was filled with crowds and marching bands.
“We were right there when Mardi Gras came through and stayed packed day and night,” he says. “That was something back in the day.”
Sometimes Bryant put on a show of his own. Longtime customer Alec Thigpen remembers Bryant turning a loaded tray into a performance.
“Andy would hold the tray high, drop it down almost to his knees, then back up again,” Thigpen says. “Then he’d spin around with it. The centrifugal force kept the drinks and food on the tray. He’d do another sweeping drop, then swing over to your table and unload the tray for you.”
But the tray tricks were only part of it.
“It was his style and professionalism,” Thigpen says. “And he was always in a good mood.”
Former Morrison’s dining-room manager Ron Kuerner saw the same qualities from the other side of the cafeteria line. He remembers Bryant’s attitude as much as his ability to carry two heavy trays at once or “save” a falling tray before it hit the floor.
“Andy was always smiling and making the job fun and smooth,” Kuerner says. “He was a good influence on the other employees.”
That influence reached the younger workers.
Stevie Watford, owner of Stevie’s Kitchen in Spring Hill, was in high school when he and his twin sister started working at Morrison’s. He says Bryant always arrived with his clothes starched and pressed and his shirt tucked in. More important was the attention Bryant gave every table.
“Andy taught me to be attentive and make sure the customers are taken care of,” Watford says. “It was all about a good dining experience.”
Decades later, Bryant still passes that on.
“I’m trying to learn the young folks how to work,” he says. “They don’t work like we did.”
Mayors, preachers and regulars, then their children and grandchildren, asked for Bryant. He remembers the little things: a familiar order, a birthday, a favorite flavor of Jell-O.
“Morrison’s is the oldest restaurant in Mobile, and eating there with grandparents is a core memory for many of us,” says Chris Andrews, founder of Bienville Bites Food Tour. “The white-jacket waiters like Andy were wild concepts for Mobile and differentiated Morrison’s. It was fresh food and great hospitality.”
But Mobile changed, and Morrison’s changed with it. As families moved to the suburbs, the company followed, opening at Springdale Plaza in 1967 and closing its downtown restaurant the following year. Bryant made the move, too. Over time, the restaurant’s sharp uniforms shifted to a red polo shirt and black pants.
Through it all, Bryant stayed. Piccadilly acquired the chain in 1998, but the Springdale cafeteria kept the Morrison’s name. Customers still grab a tray and slide it down the food line. Bryant’s favorites are boiled liver, chopped steak, fried chicken and stuffed bell peppers.
“Now I’m working at the last cafeteria,” Bryant says. “Our customers still like it and say they hope it doesn’t close.”
He knows how it feels to lose what you love. His wife died in 1979. His favorite coworkers are gone, too. Only four of his 13 brothers and sisters are still living.
“Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one left,” he says.
At home, family photographs fill Bryant’s living room: his daughter, grandchildren and cousins. Even longtime customers. Plaques on the wall say “45th anniversary at Morrison’s” and “No. 1 Dad In The World.”
Bryant can’t stop hosting. Soon, he’s up from his chair, offering a Sprite or water and telling stories of folks in the photos.
“Family unit,” Bryant says. “That’s what matters.”
And at lunchtime on Saturdays, Andy Bryant is still proudly serving since 1961.
