Tradition lives in the ashes of restaurant.

Byline: Bob Welch The Register-Guard

With a hankering for his usual pancakes and minced scrambled eggs, Luke Jackson stepped to the line at The Original Pancake House on Thursday morning, ready to chow down.

What he saw was almost as devastating as that 60-58 loss to Utah in the first round of the 2003 NCAA basketball tournament in which the Duck mascot got into a shoving match with "Swoop," the Utes' red-tailed hawk.

A fire the previous day had gutted one of Eugene's oldest restaurants, one of those places that, after 42 years in business, is as much a part of some people's routines as brushing their teeth.

"I saw Daryle (Taylor, the co-owner) and he was teary-eyed," says Jackson, the former University of Oregon basketball standout who now plays for the NBA's Toronto Raptors. `I just told him, `Man, you'll be back.' Tried to give him a word of encouragement.'

The restaurant, at 782 E. Broadway, was like a second home for lots of folks, particularly athletes, coaches and fans with ties to the UO next door.

"Our whole team would go there," Jackson says. "It's where we brought recruits."

Taylor can tell you what so-and-so would order: Alberto Salazar, 49er flapjacks; Mary Decker Slaney, French toast, no sugar or powder; Maarty Leunen, scrambled eggs with cheese, sausage, pancakes and home fries.

What he can't tell you is how long it's going to be before the restaurant reopens.

"I was thinking a month or two but the insurance adjustor I talked to today was talking more like six months. I'd rather work day and night to get it ready than wait that long."

Daryle and his wife, Dawn, are part of a dying breed: The family-owned restaurant owners who pour themselves into their customers. Daryle, now 54, has worked at the restaurant since he was 16, in 1969, five years after it opened.

"I don't know anything else like this place," says retiree Carl Nicholsen, who shows up seven days a week. `All three of my kids called when they heard the news: `Dad, what are you going to do now?' '

In the big scheme of things, this is not the life-or-death challenge of folks exiled in Darfur. But in our franchise-frenzied culture, rare is the place that still serves up great food, remembers a customer's name and, in essence, makes people feel welcome.

"There's Danny, this Czechoslovakian man in his 70s, who comes in every morning at 9:05 a.m., like clockwork," says Dawn, who's 34. "Monday through Friday, plain waffles. A French crepe on the weekends. And the two ladies, probably twice a week, who want the egg-white vegetarian omelets."

It is, some will tell you, one of those places where you're made to feel you belong. "You walk in and the cooks are calling you by name," Nicholsen says.

But only a few know the Taylors' background, how Daryle, for 10 years, worked 40-hour shifts at both the restaurant and Albertsons. How he met Dawn when the two worked in the store's bakery together.

"Love amid the bear claws," I say to Dawn.

`No, actually it was coconut macaroons. They have jam in the center and once I went to get some off a tray and he'd written `I love you' on the rack in jam.'

The couple have two children, three counting the restaurant.

But now comes a challenge far harder than keeping pace with the Sunday morning rush: getting the restaurant back on its feet.

"We're so thankful for all the calls, cards and flowers," says Dawn, who says such caring inspires them to get back in business.

"They pour their heart and soul into this place," Jackson says. And, he says, that same spirit will help them rebound.

"I'll be ordering my usual minced scrambled eggs before long," he predicted.

Bob Welch can be reached at 338-2354 or at [e-mail].