Suburban House … is moving … into Fuddruckers.

When I say that sentence to people indigenous to the Pikesville-Owings Mills corridor, their jaws simply drop and their eyes get as big as manhole covers. It’s almost like how I imagine informing people about the Orioles’ four-game sweep victory in the ’66 World Series, or even the Kennedy assassination, would’ve been. I mentioned it to a co-worker the other day and her 7-year-old son, who was in the office because of snow, started cradling his head in his little hands, moaning, “Fuddruckers?! Oh no!”

I’m sure that losing “The Fudd” in Pikesville will be a big blow to some people in this area who, like me, have wonderful memories of taking their young kids there, watching them devour a large burger or grilled cheese, only to retreat into that den of iniquity – the dreaded arcade area.

But for more of us, Suburban House – known locally as “S&H” because of its original owners’ initials – is the bigger stunner. Some people consider that spot at 911 Reisterstown Road nothing short of holy ground, as if Moses first touched base with the Almighty there while ordering a bowl of matzoh ball soup and “the Fresser Special.”

We “Bawlmer Jewz” tend to get pretty attached to our familiar places, our safe havens. For us, these buildings, complexes, facilities and physical areas are iconic, sacrosanct, even familial. “Major things” happened there – our parents went on their first dates there, we used to go there with buddies after seeing movies, we had our bar mitzvah receptions in that room, we always had breakfast with our zaydies there every Sunday, etc.

It gives us comfort, gravitas, a sense of rootedness and tradition. But of course, it’s deceiving – a complete sham—because everything in life is always in transition and flux, even when it seems otherwise. As a rabbi once said to me years ago, after I remarked on how sad it was that his synagogue had to relocate from its home of 45 years, “Alan, change is life’s only constant.” He may not have said it first, but he was right.

We “Bawlmer Jewz” don’t like change much, maybe even less than the average Joe. (If we were good with change, we wouldn’t still call it “S&H,” right?)

With its narrow entranceway, tiny parking lot (which has seen many a car swerve suddenly to avoid running over a senior citizen with a walker), that deli section, those booths, the photos and art on the walls, the mirrors everywhere, and those silly Yiddish placemats, Suburban House is home for us. Or at least it’s been our home away from home. It’s where we schmoozed or conducted business, enjoyed family meals, got a nosh to go.

But as the owners of S&H told me earlier this week, what they have there can be “transported.” It is a movable feast. After all, it’s the people (the customers, waitresses, kitchen staff, deli workers, owners) – and yes, the food, abundant and quite filling as it is – that made that particular restaurant special and gave it that last-of-the-Mohicans ambience. Really, how many bistros suffer a fire and a day later receive phone calls of condolence and support from the governor, a senator, congressmen and many others? (Maybe Obama was busy with Afghanistan or health care matters that day?)

Nu, a half-century at the same location is plenty long enough. Sure, we all have our memories and anecdotes of that place, some sweet and some not so sweet. I’ll always remember eating there at the tender age of 7 (back in the late ‘60s) and getting a look of sheer hatred and utter disgust from an octogenarian diner after I accidentally scraped my steak knife across my plate, making an awful, nails-on-the-chalkboard sound that reverberated throughout the restaurant.

I’ll also always remember all of the interesting people I’ve had the pleasure of interviewing there over the years, as well as the poignant gatherings with friends and family members. (My Garden State pal “Mickey Jerzey” always insists that we stop by S&H on his trips down here, as do my deli-lovin’ parents-in-law from Florida.)

But we must also remember that we are a wandering, peripatetic people. We can’t stay in one place for too long—we get shpilkes. So I want to wish Suburban House’s owners, Mark Horowitz and Joe Stowe, much good fortune (and plenty of parking availability) at their new location.

These are good guys who truly care about our community. (No, I’m not on their payroll, I’m not related to them and I’m not looking for free food handouts in the future.) They understand that their business is not just about feeding people and making a quick buck, but creating a place for folks of all ages to come together and simply be themselves. (As evidenced by so many sweatsuit-wearing S&H customers who simply get up and fix themselves a cup of coffee, as if they’re in their own kitchen.) That’s what always made S&H different, special.

So yes, Suburban House is moving to Fuddruckers.

Deal, folks.