First the housing market, then Wall Street, then Detroit, and now this.  The Little Holland Drive In?  When will it end?

The inevitable, sadly, has proved inescapable: on July 25, Tacoma’s best classic burger stand stood down.   For years the tiny mom-and-pop restaurant defied the odds, going head to head with nearby national franchises.  Despite having no indoor seating and very little parking — despite eccentric hours and long waits — despite being literally overshadowed by new construction — the home of the Mikie Burger endured. 

Until now.  Owners Dave and Dot Viskup have hung up the aprons in exchange for a well-earned retirement.  Any day now, the tiny building will be razed to make room for parking for Centre Square, a new mixed-use development next door.  Meanwhile, the Little Holland is for sale.  Centre Square management hopes new owners will move the drive-in to a retail space in the development, according to Richard Swift, the broker representing Little Holland.  The Viskups — not to mention Little Holland fans — hope so too.   

But a moved Little Holland, of course, would be a new Little Holland — and a new Little Holland would be just that.  A Little Holland with seating and parking would be wonderful, but it wouldn’t be the same.  Little Holland was as much about the experience as it was the excellent chow, an experience not found anywhere else.

I stopped in recently to enjoy that experience one last time.  It was high afternoon and rudely hot; still, a devoted crowd had gathered.  I went to the window and ordered the usual (not on the menu), a double Mikie D: double meat, double cheese, mustard, ketchup, pickle, onion.  Just the basics, thank you.

“Do you know a guy named Eric?” asked Dot.

“Um,” I said.

“I just ask because he’s my only other customer who orders a double Mikie D.”

Wondering if I might have a doppelganger, I took my number, 21, and found some shade at a picnic table.  Behind me, Center Street traffic roared.  Folks milled around, arms crossed, glancing frequently at their numbers, at their watches, and sighing.

Waiting was part of the fun at the Little Holland; delayed gratification was part of the appeal. After a half-hour of baking in the sun, that warm little treat in its waxed-paper wrapper felt like a raffle prize.  In fact, when the numbers were called, the announcement was commonly met with a hoot from the lucky winner.  Bingo!  Eureka!  Hot Damn!  
“Ah, hell,” everyone else quietly grumbled.  “I was here before that jerk.”

Listening for my number, I eavesdropped on two old men.  Talk of high school football soon turned to a discussion of modernity.

“I don’t have a computer.  I don’t have a cell phone,” one said.  “I hate credit cards.  I guess I’m livin’ in the wrong age…I mean, with computers, you don’t have to drive, you don’t have to smell, you don’t have to do anything…I don’t do email.  If someone wants to get ahold of me, they can call... Well, it’s too bad this icon is goin’ away.”

“21!” the loudspeaker finally blared.  Hot damn!  I grabbed my burger and jumped in the car.  Like the iconic Little Holland — like so much we take for granted — I was running short of time.

[Little Holland Drive In, open eternally in Hamburger Heaven]