By Daniel Vela
In Flint, sitting at the counter or sliding into the booth of a 24-hour diner after a late shift or a crazy night out with friends and enjoying a breakfast spread, a couple coneys, or a burger could almost be considered a local tradition.
For decades Flint had places like this on every side of town. They served just what the people needed, 24-hours a day, to power a town filled with blue-collar workers and their families. These diners were a place where you could bring the family for pancakes after church, take a first date, or meet up with friends to talk on nights you couldn’t sleep. They were places
where the doors were open to everyone, all the time.
The crowds of patrons could be as rowdy as they were hungry some nights. And the rebel spirit of the sit-down strikers was alive and well in these places as the sense of “breakfast time” and “dinner time” was muddled by shift changes at the plant. What mattered was what you craved here and now, and to hell with the norms of society.
Some preferred the breakfast special from Atlas over on Corunna Road. Some liked the coffee at Sunrise on Fenton. Or maybe your kids liked to see the “Big Girl” statue at Colonial. It seemed like everyone had their favorite, but for all their differences they all had a familiar charm and a menu filled with comfort foods.
At one time the Vehicle City provided auto factories with three constant shifts, so a few Flint restaurants staying open every minute of every day made sense. It was profitable. You had Ambassador and Tom Z’s, Starlite, Wallis, and of course the icon of them all (in this writer’s humble opinion): Angelo’s Coney Island on the corner of Franklin and Davison.
There was no lack of hot coffee being poured at any given moment back then, but as the factories closed or left, so did the need for all-night breakfast. And, slowly, many of those diners would sling their last coneys and close for good.
Except for one small restaurant on the edge of town: Aldo’s Coney Island, the only diner within Flint city limits where you can still dine in, 24-hours a day.
I visited Aldo’s on a Tuesday night around 2:30 in the morning. O-P-E-N the sign blinked, one single letter at a time, literally spelling it out for me. I walked into an empty, quiet place that’s much bigger than it would appear from the outside. It’s filled with wooden booths with red seats. The word “kindness” clings to a far wall, a single framed school photo of a kid hangs on another along with a couple small TVs.
I’m greeted by a waitress, the words “positive energy” cut from vinyl sticking to the wall behind her. Aldo’s has a few cars that come and go from the drive thru line, but walk-in customers at this hour are few. Jennifer, the waitress, and Fred, the cook, seem to be running the show here tonight.
Jennifer (full name Jennifer Slough) is a long-time Flint resident, who may have already been a waitress of yours if you ever ate at another all-night Flint favorite, the now defunct Kountry Kettle on Dort Highway. She has been at Aldo’s for 10 years and says she likes the fact that the owners will always give people a chance. “Sometimes too many chances maybe,” she says with a grin. But their motto is “everyone’s got to eat.”
Slough isn’t the only Aldo’s employee to hold these sentiments. Tera Robuck, from the day shift, told me that “no one gets fired, we just get time off.” It seems the owners of this last bastion of the 24-hour welcome are the type of people that believe in second chances.
Aldo’s at 2:28 a.m. (Photo by Daniel Vela)
I should pause here to acknowledge that you may have never heard of Aldo’s until now. It’s a nondescript spot, a “you’ll pass it even if you’re looking for it” kind of place. It’s less flashy than some of the other diners across the city, but on Flint’s eastside, on Davison Road between Center and Averill, stands this little brick building that just don’t quit.
It’s a place you can grab a quick burger on the way home just as easily as you can walk in, sit down, order a cup of coffee, and be left alone to type away at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday… And to the best of my research, it’s the last 24-hour dine- in coney island in the City of Flint.
When I pitched this essay, I’d asked myself, “Is there still a place in this city for late night workers, artists, and the night owls?” The answer was Aldo’s.
The thing about 24-hour spots is that you may not care if they exist until you need one. (You know that dreaded “break up talk” you need to have but every time you go to their place to have it, not much talking gets done? A cup of coffee and a public location might help initiate that conversation.)
There’s value to a place that lets an unhoused man come in, charge his phone, and take a little while longer to eat his meal on a cold, rainy night; a place that provides a seat when, in those final days of winter boredom, someone is just looking for a little human interaction and another person to bitch about this weather with; or a place that provides respite on those nights you just got too much on your mind and the only comfort you can find is in the form of crispy hashbrowns, bacon, and a warm cup of coffee.
In those moments, it seems Aldo’s is serving up something more than just food to its patrons. And maybe we don’t realize what all a community loses as the last of our 24-hour public spaces close.
Flint resident, author, and coney island aficionado Connor Coyne said he did not know about Aldo’s when I asked him how he felt to learn it was Flint’s last all-night hang out spot. But when asked about what we lose when these places close, he said:
Change is inevitable, and neither good nor bad in and of itself. What is important is how we choose what change to embrace and take actions to preserve what needs preserving. In the case of 24-hour coneys, I think they contribute several goods to our community. With so many divisions by class, race, culture, and outlook, I think any healthy place has a ‘town square’ where anyone is welcome.
Coyne said that the closest thing Flint has to a literal town square is downtown’s Flat Lot, but he noted that he prefers parks, trails, and the city’s coney islands, instead. Coyne added, “Non-digital space, where you can clasp someone by the hand, look into actual eyes, hear real voices and laughter a few feet away is important. Our coney islands provide both these things, and I would be sad to lose them.”
I would be too, I know, but it’s a part of our local culture – diner hours and locations fluctuating with all the other collateral changes that accompany a large drop in former population, loss of manufacturing work, and the rise of food delivery apps.
But there is one 24-hour coney island left in Flint city limits.
I can’t promise Aldo’s will become your new favorite spot if you decide to visit, but I can promise that the next time you’re up well past your bedtime – or your friend just got off a very-delayed flight to visit you for the first time in ages, or you’re simply craving a coney at 4 a.m. – there is still one diner in Flint with its light on for you.
And remember to tip your waitress.
A version of this article also appears in East Village Magazine’s June/July 2025 Issue.
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