"Save the Formosa!" "Long Live the Formosa!" The placards were carried by around 100 demonstrators who gathered in West Hollywood this January 31, calling themselves Friends of the Formosa. The cause that united them was not that of the island of Taiwan, but instead the Formosa Cafe, a local restaurant facing closure after fifty years in business, to make way for a multi-storey carpark.

"It may seem insignificant at this time of crisis in the Persian Gulf, but this too is a war on behalf of civilization," announces the campaign leaflet calling for signatories to the petition in support of the Formosa. "They [Warner] want to carry this out on the quiet, but we are going to make sure that it causes a big stir."

In a foreign land, the closing down of an immigrant-run restaurant for redevelopment seldom raises an eyebrow. Kuan Lin, who originally arrived in the States with his parents as a child, and still speaks broken English, initially thought that there would be no use in taking on a giant corporation, regardless of the huge cost of litigation. However, both he and Warner seem to have misjudged their own strength. On learning the news by phone from Kuan Lin that the restaurant was to be forced out, one faithful customer was moved almost to tears. Word spread like wildfire among devotees of the Formosa, resulting in the public demonstration, which drew seven LA TV stations and a crowd of reporters, and was also supported by the Los Angeles Conservancy, a private preservation group. Overnight it seemed the positions of restaurant and landlord were reversed.

"We have four lawyers volunteering their services for the lawsuit, and 4,000 signatures on the petition," says Kuan Lin, beaming with pride at the talk of his friends.

What in fact is it about this old restaurant that so appeals? Other than neon lights outside reading "Taiwan" in Chinese, the building occupied by the Formosa is an undistinguished single-storey block, on the corner where Formosa Street meets Santa Monica Boulevard. Step across the threshold, however, and you seem to enter a relic of the USA from the 1950s. Chic young customers sit at a high semicircular bar in the dim lighting. Among the array of drinks on view are also a statuette of the goddess Kuanyin, Chinese lanterns and a display of celebrity photographs, many yellowing, that stretches behind the bar to fill the walls of the dining lounge, which is styled from the cutaway of an oldtime tramcar. The pictures are the restaurant's most obvious decorative feature, allowing customers to dine under the grins of the stars, from Clark Gable, Marilyn Monroe and John Wayne, through to Elvis Presley and U2.

Kuan Lin explains that the pictures, numbering over 800 in all, were given personally by stars who dined at the restaurant, and many are autographed. "Each photograph is nailed firmly to the wall, ever since several were sneaked away by customers," says Kuan Lin from the horseshoe-shaped sofa in the bar that has been his nightly roost for several decades. Looking around with a smile, he adds: "Everything I have here is antique." Indeed, the bulky cash register, the pewter water jugs, the celebrity visitors book and the cutaway tramcar section all look straight out of the silent movie era, a rare effect in this modern fast-moving society. Small wonder then that those customers who first enter the black-red atmosphere of the Formosa on the recommendation of friends soon become regulars.

As one demonstrator said to reporters on the day of the protest: "We are not here to save this particular building, but to protect a piece of our culture. The Formosa Cafe is a living museum of West Hollywood."

In fact, the antiques in this "museum" are not confined to just the wall decorations and other curiosities on view. Even the waitresses and barman are possessors of ripe old pedigree. The new girl on the staff for instance has only worked there for 16 years, whereas two of the other waitresses (aged 78 and 77 respectively) have each been at the Formosa for 38 years. Yet in terms of experience and ability even they must yield to barman Lindy Brewerton, who ranks second only to the owner for seniority of service. "He's the best in LA. He has been with me for 42 years," says Kuan Lin, his voice showing the affection he feels for his working companions. "See that overweight waitress there. We could kick her out the back door and she would come straight back in the front."

Even some of the regular customers are virtual antiques. "When news of our closing down got out, plenty of old friends came back to visit, in wheelchairs and on canes," says Kuan Lin sounding cheered.

At this point an old fellow sitting quietly in a corner pipes up: "I've been coming here and sitting in the same seat for 30 years now. The Formosa Cafe is my favorite place." Such praise illustrates the appeal that the Formosa Cafe's nostalgic air holds for discerning customers. But how did people become so fond of the place in its early years, some even coming to consider it as their second home?

Kuan Lin thinks about this for a moment before answering: "I respect the customer. When we are not needed, he is free of any interference. When we are needed, he gets a thoroughly personal service." He is perfectly familiar with the preferred dishes and drinks and particular tastes of his clientele, and has been known to have a waiter drive home any customer who gets too drunk to drive himself.

Thanks to Kuan Lin's considerate behavior to others, he often benefits in turn from the kindness of others. The Formosa Cafe was originally opened by a Jewish man, Jimmy Bernstein, who "poached" Kuan Lin from the kitchen of another establishment in order to ensure that customers could both eat and drink well at his bar. Bernstein was a bachelor who was fond of a drink himself, and Kuan Lin often had to take him home and help him into bed. The two were like brothers, and after Bernstein's death twenty years ago, control of the Formosa Cafe passed fully into Kuan Lin's hands. "I once suggested that he buy the land," recalls Kuan Lin with a trace of regret, "but he said: 'You're old and I'm old, so what's the sense in buying?'" If his advice had been listened to the restaurant would not be facing its current plight.

Those who are lucky enough to have enjoyed Kuan Lin's hospitality and attention down through the years have joined up with him today to help defend the Formosa Cafe. Warner Hollywood Studios has finally responded to public pressure by postponing termination of the lease for at least three months, to allow Kuan Lin to find a nearby alternative location for the restaurant. "We hope that a peaceful solution to this problem can be found," says a spokesman for the company.

Yet even if the right place can be found, there has to be some doubt whether it will be possible to recreate the current bar/restaurant-cum-museum. Kuan Lin is full of confidence on this point. "Don't be put off by my age, my hands are as good as ever. All the furniture and decorations you can see were brought in by myself personally. I can have it all shifted to a new place--including the tramcar."

A veritable Hollywood dream: a place that has seen Lana Turner wildly dancing, Elvis downing beer late into the night and Lee Marvin so drunk he had to be thrown out. It has a history that can never be recovered once swept away.

Long Live the Formosa!

[Picture Caption]

The Formosa cafe has been in business for fifty years, and some of its faithful customers are as old as the antiques that furnish it. The customer shaking hands with boss Kuan Lin (right) has sat at the same table every time. He has come to the restaurant for 30 years.

Though it is a nondescript building, the impending destruction of the Formosa Cafe has made it a familiar sight on TV and in the newspapers of Los Angeles.

The menu covers have been the same for decades.

It is no exaggeration to describe the Formosa Cafe as a museum of Hollywood. Old film posters at the washroom doors separate the men and the women.

An old-fashioned cash register with Chinese figurines above it, still ringing away the money.

A laughing Buddha in one corner of the restaurant, clutching his lucky ingot.

The drinks on offer in the Formosa Cafe match the decor.

The menu covers have been the same for decades.

Though it is a nondescript building, the impending destruction of the Formosa Cafe has made it a familiar sight on TV and in the newspapers of Los Angeles.

It is no exaggeration to describe the Formosa Cafe as a museum of Hollywood. Old film posters at the washroom doors separate the men and the women.

An old-fashioned cash register with Chinese figurines above it, still ringing away the money.

A laughing Buddha in one corner of the restaurant, clutching his lucky ingot.

The drinks on offer in the Formosa Cafe match the decor.