Chicken tradition: One family's life in the kitchen passed from one generation to the next

May 22—Mother Cluckers restaurant is a buttermilk dream born of generations of Cannons.

Above all, the Primrose Street eatery has pluck.

Gerald Cannon is too sick now with pancreatic cancer to work in the restaurant he opened with his son in early 2021. The cancer has spread to his spine.

His son, Jomar, now owns the chicken joint known for fast home-cooked fare, but Gerald is here this afternoon with a walker and his sister, Ceci.

Ceci — her given name is Cheralyn — helps him over the bright yellow floor to a high table by the door.

The whole restaurant is in view from this vantage.

At the counter, customers skim the menu displayed above on lighted panels.

Many of these folks are regulars and know what they want to eat.

Still, they review the amusing sandwich names, which include The Mother, Holy Cluckamole, Cluck'n Slaw, Four Two Zero and Winner Winner Chicken Dinner.

Beyond the counter is a corner cabinet where patrons grab to-go orders in white paper bags. Often they will throw a glance at the Cannon family photos set on the cabinet's metal racks or pause and look closer at them.

Also in view from Gerald's table is the open kitchen where Jomar and his crew prepare buttermilk-batter-coated chicken sandwiches piled with family-recipe pickles, cole slaw, gravy and such.

A Haverhill staple

Gerald is soft-spoken and outgoing and well-known in Haverhill. He has worked at or managed or owned local restaurants and pizza and sandwich shops.

He owned Andino's Pizzeria — Andino is his wife's maiden name — from 2009 to 2012 and before that a sausage cart downtown in Washington Square.

Gerald knows the golden rule — how to treat people — and he gets along with folks from all walks of life, and all ages.

His likeness is among local legends given prominence on the big Essex Street Gateway Mural. He's the bald guy in the maroon shirt seated in the front row, arms folded, his face resting pensively in his hand.

Way before all that, Gerald, as a kid, worked the deli at the family store, Cannon Variety.

Gerald is thin now and wears a gray watch cap with the name of the sneaker brand Vans on it, a shoe favored by skateboarders.

Gerald's sport was wrestling.

He grappled at 169 pounds for Timberlane Regional High School and was a member of the program's first state championship team.

During summers in high school, in the late 1980s, Gerald and a couple of guys traveled to places where wrestling is an obsession, Pennsylvania and Iowa, to train and compete, the arrangements made by storied coach Barry Chooljian.

Ceci, who lives in Bradford, has a mother's touch with her brother. She makes sure he has water and is comfortable.

She and his immediate family are vigilant about Gerald's care, making sure that he gets to medical appointments, fills and takes his prescriptions, and eats nutritious food.

Gerald's wife of 26 years is Sonia. Their three kids are Jomar, 25; Armani, 23; and Kamilah, 19.

Gerald got out of the hospital in late winter after battling an infection. He was hospitalized earlier for another serious infection.

He has undergone surgeries, including the removal of lymph nodes.

His radiation treatments ended in December, but he will receive chemotherapy indefinitely.

He was previously told, a year ago, that he was in remission. But the cancer returned.

He has seen ups and downs in his treatment.

He and the family remain hopeful. Friends in the restaurant business hosted a fundraiser for him earlier this year, and his sister set up the Gerald Cannon Healing Miracle GoFundMe account (https://bit.ly/3yAvlBp) to help pay for treatment. It has raised more than $11,000 toward a goal of $100,000.

Memories made

Meanwhile, at the table, Gerald, 52, and Ceci, 53, talk about their past, much of which is tied to cooking and music. Food and tunes race through their blood.

The Cannons originally come from Tulsa, Oklahoma.

In the early 1970s when Gerald was 4 years old, an Oklahoma tornado came knocking and entered their home's front window.

Thereafter, their dad, Donnie, a produce manager, loaded up his kin and moved them north and east to Plaistow, New Hampshire.

Donnie, who died in 2012, was a bass player who toured from his early teens with rock and rockabilly bands.

He played with J.J. Cale and Leon Russell and drove the bus for the legendary Carl Perkins.

Donnie could do what he wanted but was always careful not to step on Perkins' "Blue Suede Shoes."

Ceci and Gerald's brother, Tim, was a born musician and played his whole life. He died at age 36, in 2012.

Ceci has been a singer forever. She sang with the band Brandy for 26 years until September, when an infection caused an ear stroke and took her hearing in one ear.

She still has it.

Asked to sing a jingle that she and Tim made for a Seacoast New Hampshire restaurant years ago, she doesn't hesitate.

She rings out the catchy melody with aplomb, and surprises herself, seeing as she hasn't sung since her hearing loss.

Gerald likes to listen to music but doesn't play. His arena is the kitchen.

He says a good part of the family's recipes hail from Oklahoma. Some come from their "Mamaw," a regional name used affectionately for grandmother — a mother's mother.

"Buttermilk was the key," Gerald says. "We used to make everything with buttermilk, including the pancakes — for breakfast and dinner."

Donnie was the cook. At the Cannon Variety deli, he taught Gerald how to make good food to order for people on the go.

Donnie brought a lot of chicken up to fry on the weekends. Around Thanksgiving, he made turkey sandwiches that became a cornerstone of family lore.

It was a turkey dinner between buns.

Mother Cluckers fashioned its Winner Winner sandwich after it, replacing turkey with chicken. The Winner Winner brings back memories.

"When I first took a bite, I literally had tears," Ceci says.

Gerald's first venture to the kitchen came around age 8. He was a Cub Scout and had an assignment. To make cranberry-orange relish. He made it with his mom, Cheryl.

Gerald's eyes widen.

"I remember it as vivid as you can," he says.

"I remember it was cold. It was for Thanksgiving, right?" he says to his sister. She nods.

Gerald and his mom followed the recipe exactly as written, right down to the amount of orange juice.

Making the relish has become a tradition, only now, and for years, he has known the recipe by heart.

Ceci and Gerald reminisce about other family foods, including Harvest Bread, a chocolate chip-pumpkin bread with walnuts.

Their father also taught them to make homemade noodles. They are more like dumplings.

Ceci taught her son, Donny, 15, to make them last Christmas.

Pressing on

A couple enter the restaurant and take a minute to contemplate the menu.

Gerald makes easy conversation with them, asking them what they like.

The woman says she favors the sandwiches with stuff. The guy likes The Mother, the plain buttermilk fried chicken sandwich.

Gerald says he's inclined to eat his sandwich plain, too.

Taking customer orders behind the counter is Leigh Flores. She got the job after bumping into Gerald months ago.

She used to work with him at Chipotle. They got along well. Gerald has a sense of humor, and she likes to laugh.

He told her back then about his idea of opening up a restaurant named Mother Cluckers. He had read the name online and thought it would work for a restaurant that serves chicken.

Flores wasn't sure the name would fly, but it has stuck here at the former homes of Lucky's Pizza and Mike's Famous Roast Beef.

As the sun gets low and light drains from the restaurant's big glass window, Jomar finishes his shift.

It's the latest in what usually adds up to 70 hours. His crew includes family friend Janai Johnson. Johnson and Jomar have known each other since preschool.

Jomar has put into practice all his father taught him about cooking and the restaurant business.

Mostly, it's commitment he has learned, a hands-on commitment to ensuring customers are happy.

Making a restaurant go is a tenuous business.

Most don't make it, but restaurant people keep coming back, sporting a clean apron, a towel thrown over the shoulder, back to plate their newest dream.

Gerald Cannons' dream is Mother Cluckers, a buttermilk dream born of generations of Cannons and being carried on by his son.

There are still younger kin maintaining the family tradition.

Gerald's nephews, Jvien Andino, 15, and Donny Cannon, 15, have tied on white aprons and are working the Mother Cluckers kitchen.