As Jobot Coffee and Diner prepares to leave its location on Fifth and Roosevelt streets, the future of the downtown staple is unclear. Owner John Sagasta announced in a Facebook post earlier this month that the restaurant’s last day of operations would be Dec. 23 or 24, with the business moving out of the building Dec. 26. A GoFundMe campaign was created to help with the restaurant’s relocation.
Last week, we asked readers to send in written submissions of their memories at Jobot and their views on its impact in the community. Here are some of their thoughts:
Kim Moody, Alwun House founding director
From the beginning of the filling bungalows on Fifth Street (Conspire/Made/Lawn Gnome), John Sagasta’s Jobot’s adaptive reuse of original duplex set itself apart as a go-to creperie with late after-hours service, where in the patio, student faces glow with their laptops, phones and meet-ups.
An underground-vibe kinda place I’d take my out-of-town guests to, and always a table or two available for impromptu community building meetings with Stacey Champion (Roosevelt Row), Jim McPherson (Downtown Voices), and Wayne Rainey (MonOrchid), and so many movers and makers.
As the founder of Alwun House, downtown’s first gallery and arts space circa 1971, I’ve a historical perspective of Fifth Street and Roosevelt Row’s maturing growth. Beyond any one bungalow or business front, Roosevelt Row’s initial 2008 leadership achieved national recognition in 2012 for our collective art spaces First Friday’s event. Today, we’ve grown to include four Art Districts: Roosevelt Row, Grand Avenue, Historic Garfield, and most recently the Historic Warehouse District.
Presently, Fifth Street and the rest of Roosevelt Row are under intense mid-rise housing development stress. Densification brings bodies while pushing out the very artists that made it our premier arts district. Nothing new. This international metropolitan market phenom is the creatives’ bane. Locally, Fifth Street and others around Roosevelt being evicted or priced out, are moving to nearby Grand and Historic Garfield neighborhood arts districts.
Best advice for creatives looking to resettle and build within these ‘new’ critical mass hipsterdom districts, BUY or collectively purchase. Not only an artists investment, ownership can stabilize our downtown’s ever evolving arts community. Like our namesake, Phoenix rises from adversity.
RELATED: ‘Good guy’ who founded Jobot, Nachobot is part of Roosevelt Row community
Stacey Champion, Champion PR + Consulting and Treeo owner
I remember when Jobot took over the funky little bungalow that formerly housed Hoodride. It became my home away from home for several reasons, the first being John’s notoriously loud and funny laugh and Joey G.’s quirky brilliance. Every coffee shop I’ve ever loved no matter the city (Minneapolis, Chicago, Venice Beach or Makawao on Maui) has first and foremost served as a community gathering spot for creative-minded individuals. They are like the Island of Misfit Toys where everyone is welcome. Everyone is celebrated. No one is too weird, and the eclectic group is what makes it so special. Somehow it all creates a magical space. But with strong, delicious coffee, because we can’t forget that. Throw crepes on top and you have my personal Heaven on earth. These coffee shops feel like a living room versus a Starbucks. They feel like “home.” This is Jobot through all the transformations. I remember when Randal Wilson still lived in the back and weird furniture would appear then disappear. I’ve discussed art, politics, philosophy, business, love and loss both at the bar and on the front porch. I’ve met numerous people who remain friends to this day, had too many meetings with clients to count, and have worked barefoot on the patio with my laptop on hundreds of days over the years. I’ve bought lots of art off the walls, have danced at Beats & Brunch, and have witnessed numerous children grow up before my eyes at this space — including my own. People make a space. Jobot is community. I’m excited to see what John and his team will create next, but am sad to close a chapter that is filled with a thousand loving memories in a neighborhood that was filled with soul, creativity, grit and a whole ‘lotta love.
Nicole Underwood, former director of operations of Roosevelt Row CDC & co-author of “Phoenix’s Roosevelt Row”
A Cup of Jobot
For someone who has never been to France, enjoying a crepe in Phoenix seems like a rare treat. Yet, in the heart of downtown, one not so special afternoon, a friend invited me to partake in my first thin, delicate European pancake.
Tucked away in the arts district, a seemingly humble bungalow offered not just one, but a full array of savory and sweet crepe choices, paired with any coffee concoction one’s heart desired. While it was a quite a small place back in 2010, damn it, it was cozy.
The place was Jobot. And it has my heart.
A yummy French pastry in a simple coffee shop opened a door to a funky, urban creative scene that attracted everyone in town. At any given time, I could bump into a prominent artist just finishing up an all-nighter in their studio, a business woman having a meeting, a lawyer (who is also a musician) talking about daily events, a student desperately drawn to espresso like a moth to a flame, or a random traveler curious about the creative vibe. Practically anyone who craved a good cup of coffee and a good conversation could be found there. The people were the true ingredients of their kitchen — a diverse mixture that, when stirred together, formed a beautiful community.
Jobot offered a space in Roosevelt Row for dreams to take shape: an ever-changing place filled with artists, events, music, deep talks and big ideas. If this gathering space didn’t exist, many opportunities would be missed and collaboration stalled. But, over a crepe and a coffee, anything was possible. And the impossible was created.
John Sagasta helped foster those moments. And there were so many of them. I will be forever grateful to this special place, where a cup of coffee became a symbol of home, where a stranger became a friend because of the common ground shared in an arts district. Through those moments, a creative spirit was formed. And as people change, so do places. Jobot will now take a different shape and the shift will cause us all to reflect how we’ve shifted too.
But, the foundation of Jobot will always remain. Through continued conversations now had thanks to the ones that started years ago over coffee and crepes.
Alex Scoville, former Downtown Devil arts and entertainment editor
“One day you’ll get sick of Jobot and move onto another place for awhile. You’ll go back though. That’s how it works.”
I had just moved downtown for college and visited Jobot for the first, maybe second time when one of the upperclassmen told me this. I was aghast. How could I ever grow sick of Jobot, with its winding snail shell walls and this richly flavored iced coffee called “toddy?” I was smitten by its grunge, its effortless cool, its nature as a communal hub. I wanted to be one of those people who’d I watch walk in and immediately wade through familiar faces and hellos.
Years and many renovations later, Jobot has been woven through my life in the way few spaces are. It’s that way for many. We usually remember places because of a few premier experiences there. You remember Jobot because of the tapestry of experiences you’ve had there. I’ve cemented friendships and fallen in love while tucked away in its corners; I’ve spent hours at Jobot with people I’d rather forget. I whittled away sleepy weekend afternoons; I once turned up on Jobot’s front steps at opening time to read the remaining 75 percent of a book and scramble together a report due for a class just hours later (I got a C, would not recommend). Jobot was a place you truly shared your life with.
One of my favorite thing about Jobot is how its accessibility to all, high traffic and long hours attracts stories that sound like urban myths passed down. e.g. Go to the bar at 3 a.m. and Sean Bonnette will turn up.
The day the news broke, I took a long lunch to visit Jobot. I grabbed my usual order, a large toddy (I’d wash and save the cup). I treated myself, too, with a one-pound bag of coffee beans. I’m saving them for special occasions, rationing that pound until Jobot finds a new home. But sometimes, I’ll open it up and take a deep breath. And with that rush of the familiar coffee aroma comes the four and a half years of memories with it.
It’s not goodbye — I hope — but a see you soon.
David Brookhouser
My name is David Brookhouser and I’ve lived on Fifth Street (and Moreland) for over 12 years. When I moved in we had virtually nothing downtown. Kimber’s Modified Arts, Wayne’s MonOrchid, Greg and Cindy’s Made/Paper Lounge and that was pretty much it. All of the buildings on Roosevelt Row had bars on the windows; and police helicopters, open street drug dealing and prostitution were all part of the nightly festivities. These were exciting times for a very small but tight community of crazies filled with the dreams of that continually elusive “someday”. “Someday” this place would be something. “Someday” THIS part of our town will be where ALL the crazies will WANT to be. Someday. Someday. Someday. Year after dreadful year, it didn’t happen. Nothing happened. Not only wasn’t “it” happening, each year brought even more and more vacant lots.
Twelve years ago, Fifth Street was nothing but a ramshackle grouping of quickly dilapidated bungalows fronting as art galleries (more often than not they were treated as more of a flop house than an art gallery). Most renters/artists lasted a few months, at best, and then moved on, or got real jobs. Who knows, but nobody lasted long. And then at some point, Kimber just gave up on (live) music and the forecast for “someday” looked pretty grim. Real grim.
And then someday happened. And I’m convinced that that “someday” started the very day that John Sagasta began selling coffee out of that little gallery at the end of Fifth Street. Now granted, Conspire was a super cool place, with really great locally made stuff, but what took it to a whole different level was the outrageously loud laughter and always generous smile of that crazy guy making your damn coffee. Some guy named John.
So this guy named John shows up and all of a sudden, like out of nowhere, and nearly instantaneously, THIS was THEE place. And like metal to a magnet, it seemed like every single freak in town now had a place, and this was it. That guy, his laugh, and a little bit of coffee, and all of a sudden that “someday” started to happen. Slowly, gradually, but definitely, and we were finally moving forward; and people started to want to be in our part of town, of which is now the most desired property of the Southwest.
Without John/JoBot (and Eric of the Lost Leaf), there would be no Fifth Street.
John and JoBot MADE Fifth Street, and the loss is incalculable.
Ashley Naftule, 34, freelance writer/Space 55 ensemble member
I didn’t want to give Jobot a chance.
Every Wednesday night I used to go to Conspire for their weekly opening mic. I would pop into Conspire’s chaotic interior, order some coffee, and peruse the anarchist library before heading over to the open mic. It was a comforting ritual, the time and place where I slowly began to immerse myself in the arts community. The coffee was a key part of that Wednesday ritual … until one day it wasn’t anymore, when the coffee cart picked up its stakes and moved across the street.
I hated Jobot the way people hated Yoko for breaking up The Beatles. For awhile I refused to step inside. I drank powdery smoothies and watery Thai teas at Conspire instead, an invisible protest that did nothing other than make my taste buds suffer. I was like all the salty old heads who avoided Conspire because they were still angry about the loss of the Willow House, raging that our little corner of the world wouldn’t harden itself into amber and be preserved forever.
My feelings for the place changed after several months went by. I went to a warehouse party on a Saturday night; By the time I stumbled out it was 4 a.m. At the time, I was entirely dependent on Valley Metro to get around, which meant that I wasn’t going to be able to hitch a ride home until 7. Stranded in downtown with hours to kill before the buses started up again, I wandered around until I came across Jobot. They had started being open 24 hours on the weekend. Relieved to have an opportunity to get off the street and sober up a bit, I grabbed a coffee and sat inside, waiting for the sun to rise.
There are a lot of wonderful things about that space. The excellent coffee, the quality grub, the fantastic playlists the staff put together. But to be frank: That’s not what I’m going to miss about Jobot. What I’ll miss is knowing that there isn’t a place for the night owls, the insomniacs, and the after hour revelers to gather and wait for a new day to light their way anymore. There will be other coffeehouses, other businesses, other places to get your crepe fix … But when it’s 4 in the morning and the buses are still sleeping and the shadows of luxury buildings blot out the moonlight, where are you going to put your feet up?
Dr. Jeanette MacLean Budd, 40
The closing of Jobot feels like a death in the family. I will miss Saturday mornings sharing a cookie with my little girl while we wait for her big brother at his Valley Youth Theater class. I will miss hanging out on First Friday with my son and seeing some of their awesome long time employees like Tabatha. The feels like the end of an era for Roosevelt Row.
Steve Weiss, 60, No Festival Required Independent Cinema executive director
Fifth Street was happening before Jobot, but Jobot brought in a new energy that downtown Phoenix hadn’t seen since the heady days of Metropophobia. I’ve never been much of a coffee culture guy, but traveling yesterday to a meeting at another coffee place made me realize how I’ll miss Jobot’s authenticity. There’s a difference between “being seen” and “being there,” and Jobot was a place to be and not necessarily just be seen. My hope is that this same energy can move to another location, but those places are getting harder and harder to come by.
Justin Capaz
I will always think of Jobot when caffeine starts to make me sweat. It has so closely tied itself in with what could be the quintessential coffee shop experience.
There were different, sitting spaces, all wooden, and spaces on the patio rock-tiles, wooden picnic benches, under the metal red/white retro umbrellas that you could make your own and you didn’t have to talk to anyone and you could talk to anyone.
Some days were empty, and I wondered how they stayed open, grateful to feel it was my own, and other times it was so busy I felt new in town, a tourist lost in the noise.
Smoking and understanding the point of a stranger or getting a point across to someone else who was a bit obsessed with life, had some answers, and some good questions, needed to hear from me as well, as long as the coffee was hot, was Jobot.
Kharli Mandeville
In Phoenix
where we lay our heads
the wings of the cacti once spread,
the homeless roam
’round the scape
and beads of sweat shape the land
and the faces
of man
from Roosevelt West to Grand —
Where has everyone gone?
They’ve dried up with the water.
sinking
sinking
sinking
Through concrete and asphalt,
who’s at fault?
No one can remember
how it all began
or where it all went,
but we all remember the water.
The taste on our lips,
and the thirst never realized.
skies and scrapes and ships
out of place in the desert.
this is not our land
this is not our land
this is not our land
It never was and if it were
we would never have stayed.
We are animals in the zoo and the valley is our cage.
Leanne Van Camp, 63
Jobot how I love you. I liked scones but you made me love them. Great crepes, salads coffee and back in the Lyndsey Garcia days, quiche. Beyond the food and coffee, Jobot is the very definition of community. But possibly the best thing about Jobot is John Sagasta. A visionary with a heart of gold and a laugh you can pick out of any crowd.
Jade Carter, 19, ASU Downtown campus student
One time, I went to Jobot with some friends for a late night coffee run. We always went there at night because it was one of the few places still open late downtown. While we sat down at our table, this young guy came up to us, introduced himself, and asked if we would like to be on a mural? He was from San Francisco and was paid to paint a mural in Phoenix that would feature in Juxtapose magazine. My friend Josef was all for it, but I wasn’t, being shy and all. He told us we didn’t have to go anywhere, and all we had to do was just stand there smiling while pointing. I politely declined, and he didn’t really pressure me. We started talking some more while he was getting his camera ready. It turned out we had gone to the same high school in Chicago, but he was there way before I entered high school. We also shared the same digital media teacher who he said inspired him to go into art. He said, “This is so crazy, now I have to put you on my mural.” After that, I didn’t put it off anymore and let him take my picture for reference so he could draw it on the mural. Josef and I are on the mural somewhere downtown. My picture is not huge, but it’s still cool to stay you’re on a mural. Thank you, Jobot, for that surreal experience.
Contact the editors at news@downtowndevil.com.
