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Until his wife’s death at 91 in 2005, the couple worked up to 14 hour days. He would open early. She closed at 2 a.m and pored over the books until dawn.

The crowd changed _ from the postwar displaced to the likes of Warhol, playwright Arthur Miller and local literary and artistic giants, to business travelers, students and tourists. But the sense of time at a near standstill stayed the same, with some guests lingering for hours over their cup of coffee and glass of water.

Although family members _ the couple had two children _ took over the business in recent years, Hawelka himself was a regular until his late 90s. Too weak to attend his 100th birthday party on April 11, 2011, his smiling portrait placed on his couch served as a reminder of his vigilant commitment to his guests and their welfare.

Back then, longtime patrons reminisced of the special place Cafe Hawelka held in their hearts.

“It was my living room when I was in Vienna,” said Robert de Clercq, a 75-year-old Dutchman who first met Hawelka 42 years ago, while Annemarie Eppinger recalled how, years back, Hawelka had watched over her university student niece as she hit the books at a cafe table, shooing away those who might distract her.

“He was like a father to her,” she said.