From Corner Café to JSE Giant: The Famous Brands Story

Founding Father

1927 to 1974

CHAPTER 1

An unceremonious start

Imagine you’re 16 years old, you have just returned from your father’s funeral and the next moment a set of keys is placed in your hand. It’s not a symbolic gesture; it’s an order from your mother to go and open your father’s restaurant, and run it for the rest of the day. Things have irreversibly changed. You will no longer go to school. You will run the family restaurant in downtown Johannesburg.

The restaurant, the Good Hope Café, was in Main Street, opposite where the Carlton Hotel would be built in 1973. At this time, in the late 1920s, it served breakfast, lunch and dinner, had a varied menu, and had become very popular. Back then all restaurants were called cafés, and the heart of Johannesburg was still frequented by the well-heeled. A meal cost you sixpence (5c).

The restaurant was established by Malama and Spiros Halamandres, who came to South Africa from the Greek island of Lemnos at the end of the Anglo Boer War in 1902. The authorities in Athens had not yet started keeping record of people emigrating from Greece.

The Greek diaspora had begun in ancient times, and continued through the Middle Ages to modern times. After the Greek War of Independence (1821 – 1832) and the Treaty of Constantinople some families returned to the homeland. At the beginning of the 20th century, however, economic factors drove many away to a host of countries, including the United States of America, Australia and South Africa. Why the couple’s surname was rewritten as Halamandres in the Roman script, and not Halamandaris, is open to speculation. Did an immigration official make the mistake when they first came to South Africa, or the bank clerk who opened their account? Whatever happened, being Greek and accustomed to the Greek alphabet, they didn’t immediately realise the mistake.

Malama and Spiros lived in Germiston and had five children. Their eldest son, George, was born in 1911.

His father’s premature death from a heart attack in 1927, when George was at the tender age of 16, proved to be the abrupt kick-start to his business journey, which would culminate in him founding the food and beverage giant Famous Brands.

It fell to George to put his four brothers through school, and then, at Malama’s insistence, through medical school. My grandmother, who was only two bricks and a tickey tall, was quite a forceful woman and her sons were petrified of her until the day of her death, says John Halamandres, George’s youngest son.

The food business was a tough one, she decided, and the four younger brothers, Otto, Costa, Alf and Nicky, were not to join the family business, but rather be sent to a top medical training establishment – regardless of how many meals had to be sold to accomplish it. They were all trained at Guy’s Hospital Medical School in London, known today as King’s Health Partners.

Costa, the second brother, became a gynaecologist in Johannesburg. Alf, a general practitioner, moved to Toronto, Canada, and hyphenated the surname to Halam-Andres to anglicise the pronunciation. Otto became a maxillofacial surgeon in Durban. Nicky, the eccentric youngest son, gave up his studies in his residency year and never worked. He got married in London, but divorced very quickly and returned to South Africa, where Malama and George looked after him.

Sadly, Nicky died of health complications related to obesity. None of the doctors in the family tasted the success that would eventually come George’s way. Maybe the Halamandres family has an addictive gene, because my father’s siblings all gambled their success away, says John.

The fact that my father had to leave school to help his mother in the business was something he never let his brothers forget, says John. My grandmother must have helped him a lot in the Good Hope Café, but he liked to take credit for its success. It cost him a lot of blood, sweat and tears, he used to say.

In 1939, when he was 28, George Halamandres married Kaliope Poulos, who was 20. Poppy, as she was called, was also born in South Africa, and their home language was English. Their first son, George Jr, or Georgie as he was called, was born a year after the marriage.

In 1951, when Georgie was 11 years old, his family decided to emigrate to California.

According to his nephew Peter Caradas, George sold the Good Hope Café to a cousin before he left for America. Malama and George kept ownership of the buildings the restaurant occupied, and Malama later lived above the premises until her death in 1973. John says that George didn’t work in America and wanted to remain retired. Peter remembers that some foreign-exchange issue made George decide to return to South Africa.

But not before he saw a lot of development and innovation in the American food industry. He was in America just as the brothers McDonald overhauled their burger drive-in to make speed the core of the business, and introduced assembly-line procedures. He might even have seen the cover story American Restaurant Magazine ran in July 1952 on the success of their concept. Barbara Halamandres (née McFarlane), who later married Georgie, says, George came back with all these ideas, press clippings and catering magazines – and he had his famous black book in which he jotted down ideas and inspirations.

John, the second son of George and Poppy, was born in 1953, 13 years after his brother, while the family was living in an apartment in Joubert Park in Johannesburg. Poppy and her sister, Lulu, bought a house in Observatory a year later. Lulu, who had been married to the Springbok spin bowler Xenophon Balaskas, got divorced from him and she and her children, Arthur and Maloma, were also looking for a place to stay. Soon Georgie and Arthur became as close as brothers, and they attended Marist Brothers College (today Sacred Heart College) together.

Within a year or two George also welcomed Peter Caradas, whose father was a first cousin of Poppy’s, into his home. Peter’s father had died and it was difficult for him to attend Marist Brothers from where his mother lived in Turffontein. He loved me like a son, and he loved Arthur like a son, says Peter.

In spite of bringing those ideas and inspirations back to the country of his birth, George remained semi-retired until 1957, when he got itchy feet and a little bored. He also wanted to give his eldest son a job, as well as his son’s best friend and cousin, Arthur, both boys were turning 18.

So, for the first time, out came George’s famous black book.

CHAPTER 2

Out of the blocks

If there is just one thing for which many a child and adult in South Africa would laud George Halamandres, it would be for the fact that he introduced soft-serve ice-cream to the country. According to his nephew Peter Caradas, George was very impressed with a cousin’s ice-cream parlour on Coney Island in southern Brooklyn, New York, which inspired George to open the first Milky Lane in 1958, in Esselen Street in Hillbrow.

He was the first to introduce the soft-serve machines to South Africa – and later he would be the first to bring in the broiler (or grid for grilling steaks and patties) too, says Peter.

George established the business in partnership with his brother-in-law, Chris Poulos. Young Georgie, his cousin Arthur Balaskas and Chris were the active partners, while George was a silent partner.

Peter, who helped out as a waiter, remembers that George designed the circular seating for the restaurant, and also the tables against the back wall. At that stage nobody in South Africa had even heard of soft-serve, says John Halamandres. People thought they were crazy, especially because they secured the premises during winter – how could they sell ice-cream only?

John was told that their takings on the first day were dismal, but even so, they built Milky Lane up to become very successful. Barbara Halamandres, who was a schoolgirl of 16 at the time and had just met her future husband, Georgie, says a big parfait (an ice-cream layered with fruit) called Awful Awful was the most famous product. Awful Big, Awful Good was the pay-off line, she recalls.

Two years later, political turmoil sparked by the Sharpeville uprising on March 21, 1960, caused Chris to consider emigrating to Spain. The partners put Milky Lane up for sale and soon sold it to Alfonso Calbacho, a Spaniard who had just immigrated to South Africa. The company was eventually sold to Juicy Lucy SA in 1986 after Alfonso passed away. Later, it found its way back into the Famous Brands empire.

At that time, George came up with the idea of combining steak and icecream, as America had taught him the importance of specialisation. The stage was set for the first steakhouse on South African soil to open.

This is where the Steers story really starts, says John. He recalls that his father used to say, South Africans will stop eating beef when the Chinese stop eating rice.

George opened the Golden Spur on Baker Square in Rosebank, Johannes­burg, just after South Africa became a republic on 31 May 1961.

He didn’t want to be involved in the daily running of the restaurant, but felt that Georgie and Arthur were still too young to manage it on their own. He asked Nick Vladislavi´c, a Yugoslav whom he had met in boxing circles, to become their partner. Nick owned 50 per cent and Georgie and Arthur 25 per cent each.

George created the classic recipes that are still recognisable today, including the barbeque sauce, the Spanish dressing and the Cheese Whizz. Peter says that even though Famous Brands probably uses different recipes today, the basis of the recipes come from George. Again George had designed all the seating, and draughtsman Teddy Hollander put his plans to paper. George was the brain behind the whole system, says Peter.

My father was one for coming up with ideas, and he financed them, says John. He never really gave instructions, but he made great comments. He let you have his wisdom all the time, and in later years I learnt a lot from him.

While the restaurant was being built, the owner of the nearby Odeon Café asked George what he was building, recalls Peter. A steakhouse, George answered. When the Odeon owner wanted to know what he was going to sell, George replied: T-bone, rump, fillet, kebabs and burgers, and icecreams, including Chico the Clown for children – an upside down cone with a face.

I sell steaks; you aren’t going to be making too much money, replied the other man.

Well, it seems the Odeon had underestimated its new neighbour, as people were queueing around the corner for those particular steaks. The Golden Spur was a phenomenal success. I think it paid for itself within six months, says Peter.

After a year, the success spurred George into expanding. I don’t know why he didn’t stick to the name Spur, but he called the restaurant in Highlands North ‘Seven Steer’, says John. George always stuck to the American names and systems he got to know during his stay in that country, as well as the term steak ranch and cowboy imagery.

George took a share in the new establishment and gave a share each to Georgie and Arthur. His wife, Poppy, and sister-in-law, Lulu, each got a small share as well. Lulu was a strong woman and she started running the kitchen and overseeing the manufacturing of the sauces. She and Poppy also made the salads.

My mother did a lot in the business and worked extremely hard in the kitchen, says John. But her poor hearing, a hereditary problem, was a serious impediment and she never wanted to wear a hearing aid like I have to, so she was mainly in the background.

He says it means that she internalised her feelings a lot. She became a follower of Jiddu Krishnamurti, an Indian writer on spiritual affairs whose philosophy was passive observance.

I was 10 years old when Seven Steer opened and you can say that is when I started my ‘illustrious career’, jokes John, who was to become the managing director of Steers Holdings. I was the chief soda jerk, which meant I served all the sodas, the double-thick milkshakes and all the soft-serves.

This first job set the tone for the remainder of John’s school years. He never participated in sport as he was working at a restaurant every Saturday and Sunday. He says he often worked on Thursday evenings too, when it was Nanny’s night off.

On Mondays, when the steakhouses were closed, friends and family would converge at the family home at 30 De La Rey Street. Catherine Dreyer, who John knew as Nanny, and who cooked delicious Greek food, would prepare a 10-course meal, and everybody would swim and play tennis and eat from huge platters that were placed on the trampoline.

Those idyllic days held such appeal that John started to play truant so as not to miss out. I often got a ‘migraine’ on a Monday so that I could stay at home from school and share in the fun. My friends used to tease me, as I probably missed at least two Mondays a month.

Like the Golden Spur, Seven Steer was a great success. Sometimes it got so busy that they had to serve people at the little table at the entrance where the salt and pepper pots were kept.

Back in those days the only available entertainment was to visit a restaurant and to go to the movies, recalls John. On a Saturday evening, we had a long pre-movie queue between 6pm and 8pm and another rush time after the movies between 10pm and midnight, when people came back for coffee and dessert. We often only left at 2am, after we had cleaned up and prepared for the Sunday lunch crowd, which would start pouring in from 11 or 12 the next day.

Because of the success of the restaurant, additional staff had to be appointed. George senior invited Fortis Ntinias, and his wife, Chrisoula, to come to South Africa from Lemnos to work at Seven Steer. Barbara Halamandres worked behind the counter, as she had done at Golden Spur.

The names of three more men who were helping at Seven Steer at the time will appear later in the tale: these were waiters Allen Ambor, Max Rivkind and Stanley Adelson. Next time round though, they won’t be wearing aprons or carrying order notebooks.

Stanley worked as a casual waiter from the age of 17, and Allen moonlighted while studying for an arts degree at the University of the Witwaters­rand. They were surprised when I said I had never worked in a restaurant before, as I took to it like a duck to water, says Allen.

Max’s family lived across the road from the Balfour Park Shopping Centre on the corner of Athol and Johannesburg Roads where the Seven Steer was situated. He was studying to become a chartered accountant, also at Wits, and like the other two he became friendly with Arthur, Georgie and Peter. He was asked whether he would like to become a waiter, and even if I have to say so myself, I was the best waiter they had. He says he became very close to the Halamandres and Balaskas families and even spent Christmas with them.

In 1973 George opened a third restaurant, the Black Steer, in Yeoville. This was the start of what would become the Black Steer chain. His partner was his nephew Peter Caradas.

Peter remembers ridiculously long queues at the restaurant. Nevertheless, people waited patiently, he says. Arthur, Georgie and I were first-class waiters. We could clear a table in a flash; diners would be in-and-out of there in 20 minutes. Because we worked at night, we played golf during the day. We got up to the usual naughtiness, and took the girls to the Greek Taverna in town, he remembers. But the three of us made the Black Steer what it was.

Black Steer became a landmark, says John. It was right across the road from my high school, King Edward VII, and I ran over to have lunch there every day. I’m not so sure it should have been allowed, but I also ended up giving my teachers meal vouchers as Christmas presents. A rump fillet cost 7/6 (75c) and a burger and chips 2/6 (25c).

To George’s delight all three of his ventures were extremely successful. But he realised that, given the significant capital requirement, he couldn’t maintain ownership of each restaurant. It was time for yet another first, and it would be this one that would really cement his legacy in the South African business landscape.

CHAPTER 3

Ridin’ ahead of the herd

The food industry and franchising are often synonymous in the consumer mind. However, its pioneer in America was the Singer Sewing Machine Company, after the Civil War, according to John F. Love, writer of McDonald’s: Behind the Arches. He wrote that the first food franchise was based on root beer syrup, in 1924, and Howard Johnson was the first to franchise roadside restaurants and ice-cream parlours in 1935.

Kentucky Fried Chicken started franchising in 1954; Ray Kroc, who would in time enjoy legendary status as a franchisor, signed his deal with the McDonald brothers a year later; and Burger King was out of the blocks too by that time. George Halamandres learnt about the concept of franchising in America and introduced it to South Africa a few years before Wimpy came to the country in 1967.

Nobody in this country understood the concept or even knew what the term franchising meant, recalls John, George’s youngest son. He explains that in the beginning, they helped franchisees with restaurant design and staff training during the set-up time and then supplied them with the sauces they manufactured. They charged royalties of five per cent, but no marketing fee. That early on nobody else was even offering franchises and marketing was still rather unsophisticated, says John.

In the late 1960s, George and Peter Caradas’ brothers, Johnny and Arthur, opened another restaurant. This one was called Steers, and it was located on Tyrwhitt Avenue in Rosebank. Three more businesses were opened at the time, and the family were part owners of all of them. Each had a different name around the Steer theme, including Branded Steer and Golden Steer.

But a setback was waiting for George.

In 1964, Arthur Balaskas, Georgie’s friend, cousin and a partner in Black Steer, realised that his heart wasn’t really in business. He wanted to emigrate to Majorca, Spain, with his girlfriend. The hippy age of yoga, psychedelic rock and free living was dawning and this alternative lifestyle sounded much more appealing to Arthur than the unrelenting discipline of the hospitality industry.

Peter recalls that his uncle was quite upset about this, because he had expected great things from his nephew. It was a bit of a sore point, he says. Arthur had a hell of a personality.

My father wasn’t happy, and told Arthur so, but in the end he didn’t stand in my cousin’s way, says John.

In the end Spain didn’t work out for Arthur and his girlfriend. They subsequently moved on to the United Kingdom and settled in London. They married, had children and became much respected in yoga circles. Arthur wrote yoga books and even had a yoga programme on BBC television.

Peter recalls that after Arthur left, George sold Black Steer for R80 000. Peter’s share of 20 per cent was worth R16 000.

Georgie took over Arthur’s shares in the other businesses, as his father still didn’t want to be an active partner. George used to cash up some evenings or open the restaurants in the mornings. He also attended the openings of franchises but he really only wanted a back seat, recalls John. George also kept coming up with new menu ideas all the time, remembers Barbara.

It fell to Georgie to start running the franchise part of the business in the late 1960s. In September 1967, at the age of 28, he married Barbara. She says, Georgie only ever wanted to please his father.

George senior was not only a good businessman, he was a kind soul too, says Peter. He was the most generous man you would ever meet; he looked after everybody. He gave shares to whoever worked for him; he wasn’t selfish.

Peter says the staff got paid well compared with other places too, and they were very loyal because of that.

George was adamant about the cleanliness of his own restaurants as well as those of franchisees, remembers Barbara. When he shook your hand, he could tell whether you had washed your hands in the last hour. He would actually make a point of shaking your hand to check.

His granddaughter, Stacey Barbaglia, remembers how he would, to her teenage embarrassment, walk into restaurants he didn’t own and demand, as a consumer, to check on the cleanliness. Every Sunday morning we would go to the Koffiehuis in the Carlton Centre for breakfast, but first he would go to the fancy restaurants, like The Three Ships, and ask them to open up so that he could inspect their kitchens.

Stacey remembers him as a bit of a taskmaster, a tyrant when it came to the work environment, but her mother denies this. Everyone loved him; that is why he was called Uncle George, she says.

All he talked about was business and opening more outlets and he always wanted to see what other people were doing; he was so ahead of his time, says Stacey.

At that time, all the sauces were still manufactured by the Lulu and Poppy team in the kitchen of Seven Steer. George told his family that he got most of the sauce recipes in America. Some of the recipes he refined from catering magazines. In the early 1950s, copyright wasn’t much of an issue yet. If you liked a sauce and asked a diner owner for the recipe, he would gladly give it to you.

Until the office in Main Street was opened, Barbara recalls, they did all the accounting for the restaurants after dinner at 30 De La Rey Street. We used to collect the books from all the restaurants. In those days there were no computers; everyone had a big book where they would write down the takings and the expenses; that was how they submitted their figures. I used to work with Georgie, or Lulu, and between the three of us we would sit and balance and see what was going on.

Barbara says Georgie had to do everything, and everyone knew he was a softie. He cared about people, she says, and time and again a franchisee would come up with a sob story about why he or she couldn’t pay the franchise fees that month. Georgie would always say, Pay me back when you can. Some never did.

John also remembers his brother as being very generous. My father used to say to him, ‘Georgie, if you give away your bum, you’ll have to shit out of your ribs.’ He was too soft, and he helped too many people.

But one thing Georgie wasn’t lenient about was when the police came to intimidate his staff who didn’t have a dompas, the pass books black people had to carry outside of their designated residential areas during apartheid. If caught without one, people could be arrested. The police often waited until a Friday night, when an outlet was at its busiest, to come around with a police van and round people up. Georgie or George would routinely go and pay the bail of employees who were in police custody.

Lukas Sandawana, who started out scrubbing floors at Seven Steer, learned to speak Greek and is still a driver for Famous Brands almost 50 years later. He remembers that policemen avoided Georgie, because he had been a boxer and could still pack a punch if he needed to. MaBogwene I used to call him, or lion, as he didn’t want to hear anything bad about his workers. He wanted to fight for people, says Lukas.

Barbara remembers that John started to spend a lot of time at her and Georgie’s home after their marriage, since George found it difficult to understand his youngest son. John’s father was a boxer and a businessman, and John was quite soft, she says. When John started making friends in more liberal hippy circles, the rift between George and John grew.

Meanwhile a new challenge was waiting. Less than a month after Georgie’s wedding, the plans that Seven Steer waiters Allen Ambor and Max Rivkind had started making some years before, were about to bear fruit.

CHAPTER 4

Spurred on

In an interview in October 2005, financial journalist Bruce Whitfield asked the executive chairman of Spur Corporation, Allen Ambor, where the idea for Spur as a Western-themed steakhouse came from.

It was a good question, as for years the Halamandres family has claimed that Spur was started with the know-how of George Halamandres, a fact Allen refutes strongly to this day.

Allen told Whitfield: "Well, there had been a couple of steakhouses in Johannesburg, where I grew up, that had that sort of feel about them. And I decided I wanted to go into that