‘It’s the personality of the store. The customers are tired of mass production.’

El Capitan market in Hillcrest looks and smells like a slice of 1927. The brightly polished apples, the produce prices marked in felt pen on pieces of cardboard, the heaping baskets of hand-picked strawberries, and the lone man behind the counter are sweet memories of a family-run business in a time when the customer always came first. At the market, he still does. Howard Porfiris, 68, owner and sole employee, has spent most of his life working in the market. With the exception of a three-year hitch in the Army during World War II, he has worked in El Capitan since he was 8 years old. He worked side-by-side with his father, Augustine Porfiris, until his father’s death 10 years ago. Porfiris keeps the store going as an extension of a deeply rooted family tradition. Times staff writer Caroline Lemke interviewed him and Mark Crosse photographed him.

Dad was always what we called the politician, and I was the worker. I never paid attention to a darned thing, I had so many things to do. I had no chance to be what we called “social like” with anybody. I just did what I had to do.

We were like brothers. Growing up, I worked with him so we were never father and son. We never gave either one orders. He did what he had to do, and I did what I had to do.

We started on the corner in 1927, and we each had our departments, fruit, deli, meats, groceries. There were five people then. It was a community affair. It was not just one owner. All of us took care of our own departments. If you were a butcher, you had a butcher department. It wasn’t mine and yours. It was ours.

About 1945 is when Dad and I took over. In the neighborhood there was a Piggly Wiggly where the Home Silk Shop is now. There was a Safeway where the luggage shop is. We had an A&P;, and there was another Safeway on 4th Avenue, and a dozen small stores like this, just in this one locality. And we all survived. They traded with me, I traded with them. We sent customers to them for what they had, they’d send them back to me. If they wanted good bakery goods, we’d send them to the New Bakery. If the baker’s customers wanted good apples, he’d send them up here.

Most of the stores (then) closed at 6, so we stayed open until 11, and you can imagine the business we would do. There was no Mayfair then. This place was a madhouse.

I get up between 5 and 6 every morning. I set everything up, bring everything out of the boxes, and open at 10, and go like hell until 7. Whatever else I’ve got to do, I do that between 7 and 8. By the time I get to the restaurant to eat, it’s 9 (at night), and by the time I get home it’s 10, and it starts all over again at 5 the next morning. It never stops.

That’s why I take two days off now. Sunday I’m in the backcountry all day buying strawberries and carrots and beans and avocados. Monday’s the only day I can really die. But it’s fun, it really is fun.

You can’t buy a job you enjoy. I don’t have ulcers. Like the doctor says, “For a guy your age, and the way you work like you do, you’re in amazing good health.” Well. What gives you health? What gives you ill health is greed and worry. If you’re asking for another raise or doing something you’re unable to do, you’re going to ruin your health. The more education people have, the less they seem to realize that, and I don’t understand. I figured that out when I was 8 years old.

All through the years, my friends would come from all over the country and stay with me for a week, two weeks. And they’d follow me around for a few days, and they’d say, “Do you do this every day of the week?” I’d say, “Yeah,” and they’d say, “My God, I can hardly walk. I can’t stay awake. I’m falling apart.” They’d say, “Boy, next year I’m going to visit another friend.” The next year they’re back to see if they can do it. I say, when you’re having fun, nothing’s hard.

It’s the personality of the store. The customers are tired of mass production. This is like a second childhood. I always share what I’ve got. They share with me, and I share of myself with them. It’s not success from a monetary or investment point, it’s just something that’s given us that we should do with what we have. It’s just a continuation of my father’s policy. I’ve been here 50 some years, and I wouldn’t change one moment, one minute, one year.