In this day and age, very little news takes my breath away. I’ve become numb to most of it and, since retiring from the news business, I don’t go out of my way to seek it out. Mindless cable networks like Ion and StartTV have become my best friends, providing the company of background noise in my otherwise quiet living space.
So when I heard of the sudden death of Costas Triantafilos, my heart literally skipped a beat. I was scrolling through email when I saw a TV station message with just a partial headline visible in the subject box. Clicking on it delivered the news that Mr. Costas, as he was affectionately known to me and countless others, had died in a suspected carbon monoxide incident, and his wife, Miss Mary, was hospitalized in critical condition.
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Costas and Mary Triantafilos. Photo courtesy of Triantafilos family/Facebook. |
Mr. Costas and Miss Mary own the venerable Costas Inn, a landmark restaurant and pub on North Point Boulevard in Dundalk. Known for its steamed crabs and jumbo lump crab cakes, its live music scene and its warm, welcoming ambiance, the eatery is a family affair for the Triantafilos family, as well as a home away from home for countless customers who became extended family.
Upon hearing of the death of the beloved patriarch, my thoughts went instantly to his family, particularly his sons Pete and Nick, who I know from both my time as a local journalist and as a semi-regular customer for many years.
To say the Triantafilos family is a tightly-knit unit is an understatement. Many family members have or do work at the restaurant and if there have ever been any family squabbles, I as a customer never saw one. Mr. Costas set the tone, with a smile on his face for everyone. He greeted everyone and, when he wasn’t in his domain — the back office — where he sold lottery tickets, handled paper work and generally held court, chatting with his hundreds of friends, he cruised the restaurant, dished out greetings, hugs and handshakes and pitched in wherever he saw fit when the place got slammed.
I truly never saw the man without a smile on his face, and I do not have the words to describe the warmth and genuineness of the twinkle in his eye. It’s as if his eyes, in competition with his lips, smiled all the time.
He was also very generous. I often joked that he probably gave away as many beers as he sold. He would cruise the bar, pulling pints and placing full glasses in front of customers. Sometimes he would take the glass I was drinking from and top it off; other times, a full, fresh glass would be delivered.
In the later years of my journalism career, when I was working only part-time, my social life dwindled significantly. Costas had a happy hour that offered Natty Boh for $1.50 and $5 select appetizers. I’d go in, have a few cheap beers, some chicken wings and leave a decent tip without breaking the bank. On one of these visits, Mr. Costas was behind the bar, giving out his charity beers. When he gave me new beers, they were from the Coors Light tap. I accepted gladly, and thanked him. A little while later, one of the bartenders noticed he was giving me Coors Light and asked why I didn’t tell him he was giving me the wrong beer. My response was somewhere along the lines of, “The man is gifting me free beer. I'll drink whatever he puts in front of me and be thankful for his gesture.”
Against my wishes, the bartender told Mr. Costas he was giving me the wrong beer and he instantly went to the Natty Boh tap and handed me ANOTHER beer! He asked me why I didn’t say anything and I told him the same thing I told the bartender. Then I jokingly said, “Next time, if you’re going to make a mistake, can you make it with Stella Artois?” He roared with laughter and said, “You never know!”
But here’s the thing — Mr. Costas was like that with everyone. It didn’t matter whether you came in every day of the week or once every couple of months. It didn’t matter if you spent hundreds of dollars on a single dinner or pinched pennies during Happy Hour. He saw friends. He saw chosen family members in the huge, extended business family he and his wife created. And he treated them all accordingly.
And his philanthropy wasn’t limited to handing out complimentary beverages. The community will probably never know the full extent of his support of sports teams, scholarships, fundraisers and community members affected by personal tragedies. I would guess that thousands of bottles of liquor have been donated to “baskets of cheer” throughout the years, and that his checkbook was opened countless times. Anyone who asked for assistance walked away with a little something to further a cause or help with a personal tragedy.
Since his sudden death, much has been written about his generosity, his friendship, his sense of family, the importance of his faith and just about every other aspect of his life. Many people consider him a father figure and tell the stories to back that up.
Many others talked of the inn providing their first jobs. Some talked of working at Costas for decades, starting as bus help while young teenagers and progressing through the ranks. Longtime employees have children who grew up around the restaurant and got their first jobs there. One former employee alluded to some personal problems in his younger years and credited Mr. Costas with giving him a chance and putting him on the straight and narrow pathway of life.
Longtime employee Jennifer started working at the inn in 1996 and took off a few years when she gave birth to her daughter. That daughter is now a Costas colleague.
"He was a proud man — proud of his wife and kids, and even more proud of his grandkids," Jennifer wrote in an online tribute. "But he was humble, always saying it was his family and community that made Costas Inn what it is today. Costas isn't Costas because of the crab cakes and crabs because that's duplicated all over Maryland. It's the feeling of family. It's the feeling of Costas."
I would imagine every single person who knew the man has a similar story. I don't think I know another single person about whom I could honestly not say a bad word. Mr. Costas was that man and they indeed broke the mold.
Even in the midst of their profound personal grief, Triantafilos family members realized how deeply the community mourned their father. They published their own tributes, and on several occasions, thanked the community for its outpouring of prayers, shared remembrances and offers to help with anything needed. They also shared a poignant video that showed the hearse carrying Mr. Costas' body as it circled the restaurant on the way to the cemetery.
“My heart is broken and life will never be the same without you," son Pete Triantafilos wrote in his tribute. "You were my guide, my rock, and my greatest supporter. Your legacy will live on forever.”
His son Nick said, several days after the funeral, that he was still coming to terms with losing the vibrant force he called Dad.
"The man exuded love," he told me in a message. "Everything about him was genuine. As time passes, I think we will appreciate him more if that's even possible. Right now, it's just raw. We will proceed full steam ahead as he would have wanted and make him proud."
In addition to being a husband, father, grandfather, sibling, uncle and cousin to his blood family, Costas Triantafilos was a father figure, mentor, boss, colleague, friend or benevolent benefactor to just about everyone outside of that family that he met. It wasn't an act, it wasn't choreographed or rehearsed, it wasn't planned. It just happened organically. It was, quite naturally and without pretense or affectation, who Costas Triantafilos was.
Perhaps no greater thing can be said about any man.
May he rest in peace. And may his memory be eternal.
