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If you live in South Berkeley, chances are you’ve met Bill Bahou. For 22 years, he’s run Roxie’s Delicatessen on the corner of Shattuck and Ashby, serving quality, affordable sandwiches to one and all and offering a helping hand wherever he can. 

Like many in South Berkeley, I find myself in his store at least once a day. 

I look forward to walking down the street from the office and being greeted as soon as I walk in the door with a genial, “Hey, how are you doing Ya’kub,” Bill’s Arabic rendering of my name. 

Before I can walk to the back of the store to grab a drink, Frances or Marina are already busy behind the counter, whipping up my regular, the Roxie D (short for Delight) of turkey, avocado and feta cheese—for me, no mayo or jalapenos, served up on sourdough roll. 

Five dollars later, after a little friendly chatting with Bill, I’m headed back to work, smiling. 

I’m not the only customer on a first-name basis with Bill, or whose sandwich preferences are known by heart by Frances and Marina. Everyone who walks in gets the same treatment, the same great deal on a sandwich. 

And, just like me, most keep coming back. 

You have to experience Roxie’s to really know how wonderful the place is. In a world of hostility, formality, greed, and impersonal relationships, Bill’s store is a rare treasure. 

And I probably don’t even know the half of it. 

It’s hard to put your finger on exactly what it is that makes Roxie’s such a treat, but trust certainly plays a big role. 

For example, many customers use store credit. Operating like a general store from times long gone, Bill has established a system where those who can’t always afford to pay can buy on credit and repay him whenever they can. Some pay every few days, some pay weekly, and others by the month. 

Bill says he can’t stomach turning people away who don’t have enough money. “If you want a sandwich but you don’t have enough money, what am I supposed to do? I’m not Safeway. I have a relationship with my customers.” 

Care is written on his face whenever he talks about people without enough money to eat. Confronted with a customer in need, he’s quick to cut the prices on his already affordable sandwiches. 

Take schoolchildren for example. 

“So many kids don’t have pocket money; their parents are working and they don’t have food when they get home. So I make them a sandwich big enough to last them through dinner and charge them two dollars.” 

He always works in whole numbers. A sandwich is not $4.23, it’s $4.00. Add a soda and its $4.50 or $5.00, not $4.83 or $5.14. 

He has incredible stories about the way the store works. 

Consider the neighbor who used to come into the store daily to buy groceries on credit. A contractor who lost work as the economy declined, he finally left town without paying his $162 tab. Bill was resigned to the loss, figuring he’d never see the money. 

Then, a few days ago, the customer returned, walking in with an apology and every penny he owed. He had been off looking for work and feeling terrible about his debt. 

As we sat in the store talking, another patron dropped off $400 dollars to cover a $387 tab. Bill showed me the receipt while the customer ground his coffee, then signed for more credit. 

“I have good customers; they never cheat me. I never worry. Many of these people have given me business for years, they always pay me back on time.” 

Bill says that a handful of people have left and never come back to pay their bills, but not many. ”It’s a risk, I know, it’s 50-50, but for me it’s 90-10.” 

While Bill seems to have become a community beacon as proprietor of a corner market, his real training came as an engineer. 

Born in Palestine, Bill was educated first in Israel and then Perth, Scotland, where he studied engineering for 18 months. For years before he came to the United States Bill worked for an American oil companies on the Arabian Peninsula and in Kuwait and as an aircraft mechanic in Germany. 

He had visited the United States several times, but came permanently in 1981 at the behest of his sister, who had been living here for several years. He opened the store soon after arriving, using donations from his family. The rest is history. 

Bill’s worldliness adds to the store’s appeal. Several customers, myself included, can always count on Bill for friendly banter about world politics. He’s also “way smarter than your normal store owner,” said one customer.  

He speaks three languages fluently—English, French and Arabic—and he’s picked up little Spanish, too. 

Bill’s devotion to Roxie’s hasn’t come without sacrifice. His commute from the other side of the Bay and the long hours he put in at the store—from 5:30 a.m. till late into the afternoon—means that he spends more time at work than with his family. To see his eldest son, who is also busy, he says has to leave messages asking when they can meet—even though they live under the same roof. 

At 60, he’s agile and still quick on the draw, engaging every customer who comes in, joking with them and inquiring about their families. On those rare days when he’s tired or just not feeling well, customers never know it. 

Don’t take my word. The real testaments come from all his customers. 

Consider Jeff Selbin, the director of the East Bay Community Law Center, who for years has been calling in his lunch order to Bill—who delivers. 

“He’s always been an incredibly friendly and helpful part of the neighborhood. He’s served hundreds of people at the office and probably thousands of our clients. He’s a warm and generous guy who has made South Berkeley a happier place,” Selbin said. 

In the end Bill says that his store has been a success even with all the sacrifices because it has allowed him to provide for his family and put his kids through school, his two top priorities. He says he’ll never retire because that “only you makes you die quicker.” 

Bill’s departure, I’m sure, would unsettle many people who have come to depend on him, not only because of his generosity, but also because of his charm. Until that time however, I—like so many others—will continue to look forward to my daily trips to Bill’s, happy that he’s there, ready to lend a helping hand.