The Heart of the Hollow: A Legacy of the Britt Family


By Matthew N. Whitney Stidham

My early years were measured in the scent of home cooking and the rhythmic sounds of a bustling kitchen. Lelia Britt’s Cafe wasn't just my great-grandmother’s restaurant; it was the beating heart of our family and the town of St. Charles. Growing up there meant being surrounded by the two best cooks in the county: my great-granny Lelia and my grandma Glenda. During the cafe’s peak, it was a true family affair, with nearly all my immediate relatives working behind the counter or in the kitchen.

While the cafe fed the town, the youth building next door fed the soul. I spent my teens there, moving from the drums and guitar in the praise and worship team to leading the drama team. We traveled across the state, and I believe that with God’s help, our performances had a profound impact on every church and school that saw us.

The Lawman and the Laborer

The pillars of my family were Herman and Lelia Britt. My great-grandfather, Herman, was one of the first sheriffs of St. Charles. He was a man made of iron—stern, direct, and a handful for anyone he dealt with on the beat. But that toughness served a higher purpose. Herman started the first miners' union in St. Charles. He and my granny are the reasons miners in our area finally saw better pay; they stood their ground on picket lines and held the strikes that changed lives.

While Herman fought on the front lines, Lelia ensured no one went hungry. She was there on the picket lines feeding the men, and she brought that same spirit to the cafe. Even when the restaurant was struggling, she would sneak plates of food out the back door to those who couldn't afford a meal. She was the silent provider for the entire community.

The Closing of the Doors

The cafe first shut down in the 1990s, but the dream stayed alive in us. As we got older, we began a full renovation with every intention of reopening the doors. However, life took a different turn as my great-granny Lelia began her battle with dementia. We made the choice to close permanently so we could care for her. I was by her side when she passed away in her hospital bed upstairs—the very same place where she and Herman had built their lives together so many decades before.

From Sanctuary to Ash

The most painful chapter of this story happened just as I was set to inherit the building. It was broken into by individuals who used our sanctuary to cook meth. Their recklessness ended in a fire that burned the entire place to the ground.

Watching a legacy built on faith, hard work, and the fight for miners' rights be reduced to ash is a tragedy that brings a blend of deep sadness and sharp anger. While I believe justice is only a matter of time, the building itself is gone. Yet, the impact the Britt family had on St. Charles—the fed bellies, the protected miners, and the souls touched by our ministry—is something that no fire can ever touch.

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