COLUMN: Creating community with cole slaw and potato salad

From Shiraz Allidina's, "Asian Hil Lizard," Fall '96 From Shiraz Allidina's, "Asian Hil Lizard," Fall '96 It takes a village to build a bridge." No, wait, that's not right? We must trust the community of people to "build a village" on the "bridge to the 21st century" that will make this "a kinder, gentler nation." Like many of you, my head is spinning from the deluge of soporific platitudes that, every four years, seems to encroach on our language. I'm glad it's over. During this hangover after America's massive electoral Screamer, many of us are given to drawing the blinds, taking a few aspirin and reflecting soberly upon the state of this great nation. Like most Penn students, I take a very dim view of quiet, sober reflection, so whenever I feel this onerous sensation overcoming me, I fight it by heading down to the deli. I live above Koch's Take Out Shop, which tells a great deal about my criteria for choosing a suitable apartment. Hence I feel it necessary to join the growing ranks of Philadelphia scribes who have paid tribute to this monument of meat, this veritable pagoda of pastrami. Koch's, at 43rd and Locust streets, has been around far longer than most of us. Founded in June 1966 by Sid and Frances Koch, it has remained a stalwart pillar of the neighborhood that has witnessed the moon landing, the crumbling of the Evil Empire and the rise and fall of J. Danforth Quayle. Through these momentous changes, Koch's has responded in its traditional, faithful manner: By serving up sandwiches. Huge sandwiches. These people actually make a Reuben that violates the laws of Newtonian physics. Take a walk into the deli, as I did just after Election Day, exhausted by the candidates' incessant empty rhetoric. Bobby (a.k.a. Robert Koch, Social Director) welcomes you in and urges you to pass down the line to make room for others. The gregarious Bobby has been in charge since his Public Relations Director (brother Lou) passed away last year. He recalls with pride that at the time of Lou's death, 1,500 letters -- letters, mind you, not postcards -- expressing condolences arrived from friends the world over. Together with employees Leonard and Steve, Bobby runs the friendliest, freshest establishment in town. The chicken salad, tuna salad, brisket and liver are all made on the premises. The milkshakes are a heavenly delight. And Koch's kugels and knishes would make any New York Jew salivate. The menu hasn't changed much over the years, although meatballs and french fries are now absent, since Bobby was a little too fond of the fries. The establishment's ethics are embodied in its mission statement: "We don't let anybody go hungry." More than a mere deli, Koch's is the embodiment of that elusive concept of community. "I am a part of this community," Bobby emphasizes. "I like college kids, but I want a neighborhood too. I like the mix." Anytime you walk in, chances are you'll see numerous individuals of differing racial backgrounds and body types enjoying a good laugh and a friendly chat. Bobby takes great pains to make sure everyone feels welcome. He attributes this philosophy to his mother, Frances, whom he credits as "the brains behind everything." And customers appreciate his efforts. Plastered on the wall, for example, are notices from youth groups thanking Bobby for his involvement. More surprising, four separate couples, now married, met in line at Koch's -- and Bobby has been to each of their weddings. He met his ex-wife in the deli. Women, it seems, can't resist a man with meat. As Social Director, Bobby greets most of his customers by name, and his memory is prodigious. There are always familiar faces in the shop, many of whom have been coming for ages. Donald, the resident "pseudo-intellectual" and token gentile, has been frequenting Koch's for 20 years; he's the one standing by the door chewing on a sandwich and philosophizing. He's just one of the faithful whose weekly ritual includes listening to Bobby's bad jokes. Bobby enjoys what he does. He gave up a career in law enforcement to run the family business, and he's made sure he works in a pleasant environment. "Community is very important to me," he says."The way people get along here? I wish it were like that all over." Bobby does not think his attitude is unusual. Ask him about the fireman's hat on the wall, and he will matter-of-factly describe how in 1969 he rescued four people from a nearby burning building. All part of the job. The word "community" is frequently bandied about in today's political sphere, although I don't really understand what politicians mean when they use it. At the end of the day, in a free society, there is very little policymakers can do to encourage "family values" or "community." This leaves us with true leaders like Bobby Koch, who understand that they are the community. "Hey, Bobby," I yell on my way out. "You're the one building the bridge, not Bill Clinton." "Who?" he replies nonchalantly, handing me my milkshake with a smile.