In 1934, in the middle of the Great Depression, a redheaded prizefighter named Charlie Herren decided to go into the restaurant business. He started in a little hole in the wall near Five Points and then moved to 84 Luckie St. To no one's surprise, he called his place Herren's Restaurant. In 1939 he sold a one-half interest to my father, Guido Negri.

Daddy and Charlie Herren arranged a deal whereby they would be partners for a year and then Daddy would buy the other half of the business. That's when my life took a different turn, though no one, least of all me, suspected it at the time. I was going to Boys High School in Atlanta and courting beautiful Jane Fuller. The coming war was a long way off, and I was hoping to be accepted as a mechanical engineering student at Georgia Tech.

Once Daddy became Herren's sole owner, he started making improvements. In those days there was no air conditioning and he was aware that something had to be done to improve his guests' comfort in the summertime. As we entered 1941, Daddy went ahead with his expansion plan, which included Atlanta's first built-up refrigerated air-conditioning system to be installed in a restaurant.

Daddy had been the popular manager of the Piedmont Driving Club for many years, and he was well known to Atlanta's business leaders. The newly expanded and more comfortable Herren's became the meeting place for Atlanta's movers and shakers along with those who liked to rub elbows with the greats.

All the action was downtown at night and Herren's was right in the middle of it all. At one time we even used the slogan "Around the corner from everywhere," and, in Atlanta, it was the truth!

I had entered Tech in the fall of 1940 in the Class of '44 and came within a whisker of making the Dean's List in my freshman year, thanks to my days at Boys High. I was majoring in mechanical engineering and had never considered becoming involved with the restaurant, even though my summer jobs in '40 and '41 were at Herren's.

In August of 1942, Daddy developed a bleeding ulcer and was taken to the hospital. He died unexpectedly a few days later at the age of 56. The war around the world was going full force and business was booming.

Suddenly my mother, Amalia, with little restaurant experience, was left to run Herren's all by herself. Herren's managed to survive wartime shortages of help and food, rationing, price controls and no shortage of sticky fingers.

With the war's end ... I had returned from my stint in the Army Air Corps, which had ended as a flying instructor at a twin engine school in Marfa, Texas. I now had a family of one gorgeous wife and two rambunctious boys, Steve and Paul.

I was working at the restaurant and working on finishing my education, which had been interrupted in the middle of my senior year. I managed to struggle through and finally received my mechanical engineering degree with the class of 1947.

I managed to find work with Delta Heating and Air Conditioning Co. I loved it!

A couple of months into this wonderful job, I received a fateful call from Mamma. She ... insisted I was needed. Against my better judgment, with no knowledge of the restaurant business, with no desire to become involved and over Jane's strong objections, I returned to 84 Luckie St.

That's how a guy with a BS in mechanical engineering from Georgia Tech spent his entire 41-year business life in the restaurant business.

Our location was just one door west of Forsyth and only one block separated us from Peachtree Street where Luckie began. In only one mile, at the edge of the Georgia Tech campus, the name changed to Hemphill.

On the corner, next to us, was the Rialto Theater. Diagonally across from it was the Piedmont Hotel, built in 1903, with a fine dining room known far and wide during the early part of the century. On a small corner of that property there had been a restaurant site occupied by a Krystal, succeeded by Johnny Reb's, followed by The Sportsman. Across Forsyth Street from the Piedmont, practically in our front yard, was the Ansley Hotel. Later renamed The Dinkler Plaza, it was home to the Rathskeller, Owl Room (complete with blinking-eyed owls on top of the columns) and Starlight Roof, where Hollywood stars performed in a theater in the round.

During World War II, the offices in downtown Atlanta were dubbed "Forsyth Street foxholes" by Atlanta columnist Ernie Rogers, who mentioned Herren's frequently.

We ordered Atlanta's very first lobster tank from a firm in St. Louis and anxiously awaited its arrival. When it failed to arrive, the manufacturer supposedly shipped another. When it eventually arrived it turned out to be the first one that was shipped. It had been sitting around a truck terminal for months because nobody knew what it was and could not identify it when inquiries were made!

What a monster I had created! I averaged at least one hour each day working on the tank and frequently said, "I want to be buried in it." After I played nursemaid to this mechanical marvel for many years, Atlanta Journal columnist Ernie Rogers dubbed me "Atlanta's lobstertrician!"

Talk to anyone about Herren's and somewhere in the conversation they will invariably mention sweet rolls or cinnamon buns or sticky buns. Years ago, in the early days of Herren's, someone made the first sweet roll and placed it in a basket of hot Parker house rolls. Nothing has been the same since.

So popular were these rolls and so frequent the recipe request that we published it ourselves as a giveaway. Our waxed take-home bag conveyed this treasured information. For many years this recipe went home with every take-out purchase; the bag was also used as our doggy bag. To celebrate our 45th anniversary, we handed out one of these bags with a dozen hot sweet rolls to everyone who dined with us on that day.

Herren's closing was noted on the front of the Metro section of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

After being 53 years in the same location and serving millions from all over the world, Herren's finally closed its doors on Friday, Nov. 13, 1987.

Today our old neighborhood stands almost totally deserted. The Rialto Theater closed shortly after we did and now ... has finally been taken over by the Performing Arts Center for Georgia State University. (Our building) was ultimately bought by the present owner, who converted it into a home for Theatrical Outfit, Atlanta's second-oldest theater company.

RIP — requiescat in pace — which in Southern means no more sweet rolls.

©2005 Georgia Tech Alumni Association