by Travis Mullis 

I was getting ready for work when the breaking news on the television in my living room caught my attention. The first report about a shooting at Brooks’ Sandwich House said only that an employee of Brooks’ had been killed. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew exactly who that employee might be. Scott Brooks or his twin brother David had been arriving in the pre-dawn hours every weekday morning to get the business going for decades. Monday morning was no different, but changed everything that day.

After arriving at Brooks’ to open the NoDa restaurant he and his brother owned, Scott Brooks was shot and killed by an unknown assailant. The killing is being treated as a homicide by Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police and is the city’s 103rd homicide this year.

Brooks’ Sandwich House, a small restaurant with no indoor seating that’s been attended to with love and care by three generations of Brooks, might not look like much to the uninitiated eye. But for the loyal customers who have been bellying up to the plywood eating area outside since it opened in 1973, it is a Charlotte icon, a delicious constant in a city that seems to never stop changing. The menu is simple and has stayed the same. The hotdog my mother ordered back in the early ‘80s tastes just the same as the one I ordered last week.

Perhaps my opinion is influenced by nostalgia or simply a lifetime of enjoyment, but I believe they have the best burgers and hotdogs in the city, at a price affordable for all. Unabashedly greasy, and topped with processed cheese and chili, Brooks’ burgers and hotdogs do not chase the infinite topping trend. A devotion to a few tried and true accoutrements doesn’t overwhelm the burger, nor distract from the basic mission of any traditional hamburger or hotdog: to be the type of meal where indulgent enjoyment trumps calorie counts or sourcing. And that plain white bun is the perfect consistency to soak up all that fat.

There has never been a need to fix something that isn’t broken. I love the place, especially because I can get livermush on my cheeseburger. My mother, a social worker for Mecklenburg County for 30 years, got to know Scott and David pretty well after more than two decades of dining there a couple times a month. As a legal guardian for those who could not make decisions for themselves, my mother had a stressful and thankless job. Brooks’, like her numerous other lunchtime haunts now long gone, were shelters from the harsh realities of modern life. The demands of county and state bureaucracy could be washed away with sweet tea or Cheerwine and momentarily forgotten as she munched away on a chili cheese burger.

And that’s the type of place it is for lots of folks. Not just another place to get a quick bite before you head back to work, it’s a melting pot for all segments of the city. Bankers, construction workers, social workers, cops, teachers, of all ages, whether black, white, or brown, all together at that outside picnic table enjoying Brooks’ delicious food together. There are few places in Charlotte, especially places as old and original as Brooks’, that can claim to truly feed the masses. Brooks’ Sandwich House does just that.

In addition to producing delicious food day after day for years, the Brooks donated more than 2 acres of land they owned in area earlier this year to be used for affordable housing. It made them sad to see their neighbors leave behind the homes they had grown up in, simply because they couldn’t afford the ever-increasing costs of living in a popular neighborhood that had once been working-class.

America is a country with a serious gun violence problem. Charlotte is no exception. The city’s homicide rate continues to grow, and Scott now joins that grim statistic. I’ve been visiting Brooks’ for years, and one of the many pleasures of visiting was knowing that Scott Brooks, with a big smile on his face, would be there behind the counter flipping burgers or stirring that massive pot of chili. I will keep visiting of course, but things will never be the same now that Scott has been taken from us.

I drove past Brooks’ last night, and stopped to get out of my car when I caught sight of a growing memorial.  Flowers and candles were strewn across the worn picnic table and laid on the ground at the front of the restaurant. An older gentleman quietly wept as he took in the makeshift vigil; another man left flowers and whispered a prayer I couldn’t fully hear. I choked back tears as I headed to my car for the short drive home. It felt like a hole had been torn in the heart of my hometown and the city I love so well. The food at Brooks’ may taste the same tomorrow, but after yesterday, everything will be different at one of the places that brought us all together.

Unpretentious People Say...

Other Articles You Might Enjoy