In Brookline, McDonald's was their kind of place

BROOKLINE -- Usually neighborhood nostalgia is reserved for the mom-and-pop grocery or the corner cafe a local couple owned for decades. In Coolidge Corner, where some still miss the Woolworth's that had the space now occupied by a cellphone store, the latest object of lament is an unlikely one.

McDonald's is closing.

The neighborhood that once said no to Dunkin' Donuts but yes to the more upscale Au Bon Pain is home to two of the area's best-known independent establishments of their kind, the Coolidge Corner Theatre and the Brookline Booksmith . Bread & Circus , the chain now owned by Whole Foods Market , was founded here. For more than three decades, the neighborhood's also been home to a franchise of the fast-food giant.

The 70-seater that doubles as an unofficial drop-in center for the elderly , the mentally ill , and mothers with young children is expected to close this month. Going, too, is the adjacent Zeeba's Exotic Flowers . The Citibank anticipated in their stead will join half a dozen banks within a two-block radius.

"Another bank?" says town meeting member Harriet Rosenstein. "And McDonald's is the only place where people who are low-income and old can be out in the world. The word is appalling."

Though franchise owner Sal Napoli , in a statement, attributes the closing to the expiration of a non renewable lease, Marge Amster, Brookline's commercial areas coordinator, says Napoli once mulled staying but wasn't generating enough business to justify making needed capital improvements. "You often read that a community is fighting McDonald's coming in," Amster says. "That was not the case here."

At McDonald's, Daniel Smith, 58, a former construction worker retired on disability, nurses a cup of coffee in his usual spot . He's here every morning for up to an hour. "I don't like the food," he says. "But coffee's coffee." He sits alone ("I don't have any friends") and lives alone. Soon he is chatting with a nanny who brings her 17-month-old charge here.

The laptop-and-latte crowd frequents the nearby Starbucks and Peet's , where the price of one biscotti would buy two McDonald's hamburgers. Here there's room to let coffee or fries last long enough to read the paper or finish a crossword puzzle or linger with a buddy. A photograph of John F. Kennedy, born a few blocks away, hangs by the door.

Benjamin Torf, 81, a former funeral home director who took up teaching because he was "sick of burying people," watches passersby through the window. Frederick Hunter, 82, a vegetarian and retired locksmith with Parkinson's disease, takes the seat vacated by Smith. "You wouldn't catch my wife dead in here," Hunter says. He's been coming by daily for a decade. "I just get out of the house and exercise. Move my legs. The next thing is the library."

An octogenarian points to a newspaper article about the revival of ballroom dancing. Ah, how he loved visiting dance halls with friends. He remembers meeting those friends here at McDonald ' s after work. "We used to have a good night crowd. They disappeared. They moved. Passed away," he says. "I won't say it was a club atmosphere. But it was a meeting place. We'd talk sports. Politics. Dances." Now he sits alone. One remaining friend is too frail to join him. "It's definite that it's going to close?" he asks. "It will be missed. I'll say that much."

Jill Judson, walking with a cane, wearing a cap from the National Alliance on Mental Illness and a Special Olympics sweatshirt, awaits her boyfriend, Richard Price. He already had breakfast here, and when he returns Judson sends him to get her coffee and a bagel with bacon, egg , and cheese. "I've been coming a very long time. Since almost forever now," says Judson, 52. She used to take medication for schizophrenia; Price, 63, still does. A neighbor introduced them almost three years ago.

"I like sitting here eating breakfast. Maybe lunch. Talking to my friends," Judson says. She turns to Price. "If you're hungry, sweetie, you can get another bite."

In come kindergart ners on a field trip to the nearby fish market. While they sip McDonald's chocolate milk and snack on graham crackers they brought with them, their teachers read to them about coral reefs and life in the deep. In come four sophomores from Newbury College on their way to the comic book store across the street. Colette Stanzler, 31, a student at MIT's Sloan School of Management , settles in with a book of case studies, Peet's coffee , and an Egg McMuffin to prepare for a job interview while her 2-year-old son is at day care.

Michelle Lauder, a 42-year-old picture framer who works nearby, has been a customer since 1986. "There's no place for seniors" -- she nods at a woman with matted hair and dirty clothes -- "or that homeless woman over there."

Five coppersmiths working on a nearby roof grab some lunch. Two days earlier they ate at a McDonald's in Billerica. "This is closing?" says Steve Crocker, 39. "Why? It's not upscale enough?"

Michael Wofsey, 50, arrives, book in hand, as he does a few days a week, after walking 12 minutes from the main branch of the town's library, where he's the assistant director of technology. He eats a snack wrap and reads Richard Stark's "The Outfit. " McDonald's appeal? "It's quiet," says Wofsey, though, he adds, "the men, especially the older guys, can be noisy." Across the room, a man and woman call to each other from separate tables.

"Starbucks is for a younger, yuppie, professional group," says a 66-year-old former secretary. At Dunkin' Donuts, which eventually opened, "there's nowhere to sit," says Frank Rice, 69, a former banquet steward.

Rice comes here two hours a day for air and conversation. "We get cabin fever," he says. The Brookline Senior Center , which advertises French conversation groups and seminars on global ethics, is not for him.

"There's a different class of people up there," Rice says. "They won't mix with the people who come in here."

"Maybe you should try it," says the woman. "Especially now."

Rice finishes the salad he bought for $1.05.

"Wendy's," he says. "It would be nice if we could get one of them in here."