When Jimmy Buffett wrote, “I’m goin’ down to Fausto’s/get some chocolate milk” in his 1976 classic “My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, and I Don’t Love Jesus,” it proved that he had truly assimilated into the culture of his island home. He might have been an up-and-coming musical legend, but he was one of us.
That’s because all of us — refugees from the “real world” who were happily reinventing ourselves in Key West — shared the experience of going down to Fausto’s Food Palace to collect whatever edible or drinkable items we needed.
Fausto’s was billed as “not just a grocery store, but a social center,” and the facetious-sounding slogan was absolutely true. Strolling the aisles of the store, we might run into anyone from favorite bartenders and small-time drug dealers to best-selling authors like island residents Phil Caputo and Shel Silverstein.
Yet no matter who else we met there, we would surely encounter Ana Weekley. If Fausto’s was the heart of Key West’s daily commerce, Ana — with her tiny stature, pristine dresses and welcoming smile — was the heart of Fausto’s.
The store was founded in 1926 by Fausto Castillo, Ana’s father. When she was 17 years old, he made her a partner in the business.
It was a wise move. Ana had an innate warmth, an instinctive understanding of customer service, and a phenomenal memory for shoppers’ names, faces and families.
For example, I introduced her to my mother during my parents’ first visit to Key West. They chatted for about five minutes.
Five minutes — but Ana remembered. Afterward, practically every time I wandered into the store for something, she’d come bustling over and say, “Well, hello, Carol. How’s your mama?”
Of course, some of Fausto’s customers were definitely worth remembering. As well as Buffett and his cohorts, they included Ernest Hemingway’s family, Tennessee Williams and the aides of Harry Truman, who spent 11 working vacations in Key West during his 1945-53 presidency.
“President Truman used to send his people in to buy vichyssoise soup,” Ana told me one day when I begged her to share a few tales. “They’d buy seven or eight cans of vichyssoise at once. We used to see him walk down the street all the time.”
When Fausto Castillo died, Ana and her husband Carl Weekley — a former Navy man and a meat cutter by trade — carried on with the store. They expanded, added products and departments, and moved Fausto’s to its current Fleming Street location.
Through it all, Ana ruled. She offered the same smiling welcome to everyone, from Key West grande dame Mary Spottswood to hippies in cutoffs and flipflops.
Admittedly, Fausto’s wasn’t the only place on the island to buy groceries. We also had a scruffy “supermarket” and little delis like La Bodega and Uncle Garlin’s. Fausto’s, however, was always our favorite.
At some point Ana and Carl started issuing numbered check-cashing cards to regular customers. Mine was number 422 — and when I misguidedly moved away for a year, I held onto that card like it was a magic ticket to bring me home.
After I finally returned, vowing never to leave again, Ana offered me a shiny new card (with a new number) to replace my battered old one. I resisted, attempting to explain what the old one meant to me.
With characteristic grace, Ana let me keep using card number 422.
Ana and Carl are gone now, and Fausto’s is celebrating its 100th anniversary under the leadership of their sons Jimmy and Alton. Yet each time I walk into the store, I half expect to see a tiny woman bustle forward to greet me … and ask about my mama.
