Perry wants me to have a drink. As I wait for him to finish wiping off the counter of his restaurant, Jay's Deli, he glances over at least twice to offer whatever I'll have: Tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate? I politely decline.
"You're sure? A little juice?" he asks. I decline again.
He turns, reaches for a paper cup, and fills it with neon orange liquid from a machine behind the counter.
"Have this here," he says, handing me the cup with a straw. "A little tropical drink."
You don't say no to Perry, not when it comes to food, and not in Jay's, the turf he's called home for 41 years. It's a place where first names will do, a down-home Medford staple where everybody might not know your name, but Perry sure will.
And everyone who's been there knows his name. No, newcomers, he's not "Jay" - that was his father, Jay Serfes, the man who created the restaurant in the '60s, on the portion of Boston Avenue flanking Tufts. He had wanted to go into business for himself after he got out of World War II, and soon enough, the family-owned and operated establishment was born.
Perry is the gentle-eyed, lanky man who's always there wiping the counter, waiting on tables, schmoozing with regulars, or ringing up the register. He may not be Jay, but nowadays he is Jay's Deli. After his father passed away three years ago, it became his responsibility - along with his older brother Arthur - to keep the family name going.
"We've sort of become fixtures here," he says in his the familiar soft voice, one that belies his friendliness.
This 49-year-old is the restaurant's premiere staple, not only in presence, but in attitude. Walk in for a second. If he's not scurrying around to make sure that things are running smoothly, he's there greet you with a "hey cuz," to ask you how everything is going, and to personally make sure you have everything you need for your entire stay. Arthur, the quieter Serfes brother, is the man frying up stuff in the back. Day or night, you can be sure that both of them will be there. This is their life.
It's a simple life, and Jay's Deli is a simple, no-nonsense establishment. Decorations are sparse: a Christmas wreath still sits on one wall, next to an "Olde Tyme" style menu that still gets updated. A curiously out of place Ansel Adams print hangs in back. Two Tufts pennants adorn the far wall, greeting anyone who happens to peek in to see what's going on.
But none of these define Jay's Deli, which could normally just be another diner with great eggs and chicken parm subs. "It is a great place to get a sandwich or a burger. The food is good, the atmosphere is friendly," senior David Kraemer said. "But Perry is the life of the place."
Perry didn't always intend on running the Deli for the rest of his life. As a young boy, he watched his father, mother, and brother spend long hours in the tiny establishment. When Perry was old enough, he started working there evenings after school, giving his hardworking parents the opportunity to take a break.
After graduating from Medford High School, he attended Boston's Northeastern University, where he minored in philosophy, majored in philosophy of education.
"With that type of education, you need a Masters and then a PhD to teach...but then with responsibility and family, it seems like you get sucked into working," he explains.
What started out as a part-time job turned out to be double time, he says, as he and his brother worked more and more hours. Pretty soon, they had an equal hand in running the place. Jay's had become an entire family affair.
Jerry Dottin has been working next door at Espresso's for 17 years. "They've been there for eons," he said. "I'll go in and talk to him once in awhile. He'll give me a coffee, give me a tea."
Perry is renowned for this kindness, this pure hospitality. While we sit and chat, he personally greets every man and woman who walks through the door. And as he rings up the customers, he slips one a steaming cup of coffee, on the house.
Soon after, a frazzled elderly woman walks into Jay's, and heads straight toward our small table. "Perry, can I borrow ten dollars?" She mutters something about a cab waiting outside, and a relative in the hospital, but Perry is already out of his seat, walking toward the register.
"I'll pay you back tomorrow," she promises, looking outside at her waiting taxi. "I'll pay you back tomorrow," she repeats.
"No problem at all," he assures her. "God bless," he calls, as the door closes behind her.
Anyone who has been in the area for a while has a personal Perry story to share. Senior Claudia Krug, a self-proclaimed Perry enthusiast, has been dining at Jay's for years. "Going to Jay's is like going home," she said. "One time I went with some friends after a cold day of skiing, and Perry took care of us like a parent, with enough food to feed an army."
Neil Farbman, who graduated from Tufts last year, remembered a similar Perry encounter. "One time I was there with a couple of my housemates. It was pretty close to closing time, and Perry brought us some free soup and twice as much food as we ordered, and he sat down to talk with us for awhile about his daughter, and Greece, and Tufts," he said.
It's those rare lulls at the end of the day that give Perry the opportunity to meet locals and students, and get off his feet. He currently works 14-hour days, at least six days a week, and eats almost all of his meals where his customers do. "This is a break for me here, right now" he says, leaning back in his chair. "I like it."
For this particular break, he has only allowed himself a 30-minute conversation. But a few summers ago, he closed shop to go to Europe, and swooped down to Greece to visit family. He's been there three times, and says it's amazing.
Recently, though, he's had very little time to take a vacation. He'll only break away for a week or so in the summer, when business slows, and head down to New Hampshire or Cape Cod with his family. And although he says it's beautiful there, he has no plans to leave Medford any time soon.
"Unless I win the lottery. Then I'll take three or four days off a week."
Perry, who has three children: (Nicole, 26; Alexander, 24; and Alissa, 12), is no longer married. " I'm married to Jay's Deli now," he jokes. "That was the problem."
The only time he has a chance to breathe is during the summer, when Tufts essentially empties. The school, and its hungry weekend breakfast/brunch crowd, make taking a second to relax any day before 2 p.m. almost impossible. Because of this student support -both for the inexpensive comfort food, and for the service - Perry has become kind of a personal historian for the school, and stands as a familiar face alumnae come back year after year to revisit.
"I enjoy Homecoming," he says. "That's part of the reason we stay here. On occasion, we can place when they graduated. Over the years, we've had quite a few nice times...made some acquaintances and friends.
"But more often years ago than now," he adds. "Every year, less and less people come back."
Perry says he especially enjoys seeing different generations of one family attending Tufts, and loves when parent alumnae bring their kids in for a meal.
He's also a testimony to the evolution of Tufts' social scene. He comments a few times on the distinctive change in the Tufts climate over the past ten years, and attributes an increase in tuition and a stronger focus on academics to the fact that undergrads are, "More serious... Less into partytime."
"People party less, so it's quieter," he said. "Years ago, Thursday, Friday, Saturday night, people would walk around loaded."
At the end of last semester, the hosts of Sarabande's Supershow called upon campus personalities to help MC between skits - Perry joined President Larry Bacow and others at the event. He walked onstage to cheers, bid audience members good luck on their studies, and introduced improv troupe Cheap Sox. "I would have loved to hang out and sit in the audience," he says. "I could only stay for about ten minutes."
Work, as it always does, called Perry back to Boston Ave., to close up Jay's Deli. He says he doesn't like to be away from the restaurant.
And anyone who happened to visit Jay's in that short span of time probably felt that something was missing. Not just that familiar face, but the comforting attitude he brings with every meal.
"We don't make money," he says. "We make friends."
