Paparazzi co-owners Bruce Brown and Lisa Mancuso created an iconic meeting place.
ALAN HARKRADER

Food + Family + Community + Military = Paparazzi.

In the notoriously chancy restaurant business, this calculation was a risk from the start. But sometimes, the final total proves greater than its parts.

There are many family-owned eateries in central Illinois. A few have been here for decades. One or two boast a civic-minded clientele. No other has a 77-year-old Marine manning a 102-degree kitchen, plus a co-owner/life partner willing and well-able to promote the Peoria area.

Over the past 40-plus years, Bruce Brown and Lisa Mancuso developed a former photography lab into a place where everything from ballet to a water company buyout got a boost.

“That goes with Bruce’s code that it’s not just a restaurant,” says Mike Bailey, who first entered Paparazzi as a non-local boy hunting fine food long before Peoria Heights became a dining destination.

Since then, Bailey has been editor for the Journal Star and Peoria Magazine, not to mention consultant for Peoria Heights and its one-time wannabe developer Kim Blickenstaff. He has observed Paparazzi from several vantage points.

“It’s kind of a civic meeting place to hash out things, maybe after hours. Maybe solve some problems for the community,” Bailey says. “It’s sort of an old-school vibe. Aside from the good food, it’s one of the few places you know the owner.

“I’m going to miss it.”

He won’t be alone. On July 5, Paparazzi officially closes. On July 13, Celtic bagpipes will wail and American Legion buglers will play “Taps” at an open house/finale. Already, long-time customers have called dibs and made bids on everything from the photos to the chairs.

Unlikely beginnings

Four decades ago, Bruce Brown was best known as the youngest and most cantankerous City Councilman in the group which produced the Peoria Civic Center. After two terms, he ran for mayor against long-time incumbent Richard Carver, and lost.

“Bruce was often ‘the odd man out’ on the City Council,” says Jim Bateman, the only other surviving council member. “We had many 8-to-1 votes with him being the lone opponent, often passionately so. However, it was never personal — on his account nor on the accounts of the others. We each knew that all of the other Council members were trying to make the best decisions for the city — we just had different ideas on how to get there.”

But that long, fine run was ending. Hiram Walker and Pabst had closed. Caterpillar was struggling. Carver himself was headed to Washington, D.C., as a U.S. Assistant Secretary of the Air Force.

It was the “Last one to leave Peoria turn out the lights” era. Divorced and working construction at a time when most took their trade tools to Texas, Bruce wanted to stay. His personal luck was on an upswing: he’d met Lisa.

Then his older brother Peter, a chef, proposed an Italian restaurant based on their mother’s recipes.

Peter had a complete plan, pitching everything from his own cooking to the subdued red-white-green decor to a hole-in-the-wall location on a side street in Peoria Heights. That’s where bankrupt Peoria Color Lab was for sale at $110,000. Bruce and Lisa offered $55,000. A year later, it was accepted when there were no other offers.

Even half-price, they scrambled to cobble together an opening. Friends and family gutted and cleaned and painted. The upper platform, where current customers vie to be seated, is only there because it was too expensive to remove. Lisa’s sister did the graphics and painted the sign. Beneath the chairs are pencilled notations from a brother-in-law’s 1980s repairs. An engineer, he kept track of the number of nails used on each.

Perhaps this is why Bruce promotes “Familia! Familia! Familia!”

While vintage family photos frame the entry, “Paparazzi” actually translates to relentless photographer, particularly of celebrities. The low-key, big-city vibe here is more than jazz. The walls are festooned with photos from local council members to Louis Armstrong. Not only was the site a photo lab, but Bruce was a photographer in the Vietnam-era Marine Corps. And Peoria Color once developed film for the newspaper, a connection with fellow photographer/military veteran Alan Harkrader.

“Whenever celebrities came to town, I’d just drop off a picture for him,” Harkrader says.

Making a difference

Despite its location, Paparazzi attracted high rollers and prominent Peorians from the beginning. Equipment distributor George Pasquel helped outfit the kitchen. Local developer G. Raymond Becker, philanthropist Sam Rothberg and JS publisher Henry Slane visited the first week. Those heavy hitters not only offered to help Bruce and Lisa get started, most later offered to help with community projects Paparazzi adopted along the way. “I think the first thing we did was Peoria Ballet,” says Lisa.

Sitting at the back table where political candidates are cajoled and community causes are championed, after hours, Lisa and Bruce both laugh and cringe. They take turns relating the time former Mayor Jim Maloof helped a ballet benefit. (“Function,” Lisa corrects.) The practical partner, she was first to notice the always-enthusiastic Maloof had sold more tickets than Paparazzi had seats. The mayor convinced them to host two dinners the same day — which meant all tablecloths, dishes, flatware and pre-meal prep for a “three-forker” had to be reassembled for the second sitting in less than an hour.

“I don’t know what possessed me. I was 30 years younger,” Bruce says. “We made $28,000 in one night.”

If Paparazzi believed in slapping chow on the table, that would be one thing. But that fourth factor in this restaurant’s equation is military, meaning precision and consistency. This is an occasion destination — birthdays, anniversaries, graduations. (Full disclosure: mine included.) Staff is trained to be unobtrusive, welcoming, discreet and professional; once taught, many stay for decades. “Functions” are no exception, more a reason to double down. Often, despite the extra workload and stress, Bruce and Lisa donated all profits to whatever cause they were supporting.

“We get to try new stuff,’’ Bruce shrugs. “The crew gets amped.”

Examples abound. Easter Seals. Toys for Tots. Central Illinois Landmarks Foundation. Peoria Historical Society. Salvation Army. Honor Flight. Sculpture Park.

Riverfront Museum Director and former Peoria City Councilman John Morris recently reminded Lisa and Bruce that the first “function” for the museum was held at Paparazzi.

Some projects were more long-term than others. For years, proponents of the Rock Island Trail strategized at Paparazzi when the restaurant was closed on Mondays.

Some projects resonated with military connections. For years, both Bruce and Harkrader were part of a group restoring then-neglected Soldier Hill at Springdale Cemetery. Likewise, Paparazzi often hosted while “the Shaft,” the 1866 Civil War monument, gradually was reassembled. Pieces had been scattered since it was moved to accommodate a then-new downtown courthouse in 1962.

Sometimes, the work pays off. Now the Rock Island Trail is less than a block away. Another block north, nearly a dozen dining establishments draw patrons from around the area. A few blocks south, the Shaft stands again and Soldier Hill is getting primped for summer holidays.

“We’ve had a good run,” Bruce says, with his trademark merry laugh. “Especially for someone who wasn’t sure it would last a year.”

Some things you can’t avoid. A lousy economy didn’t kill Paparazzi at birth. A global pandemic tried, but failed, after the restaurant had become an institution. It took time, political tempers and kitchen temperatures to call the final tally. Low oven racks are hard on 77-year-old knees, even for a Marine.

“It’s for other people now,” Bruce says.

This story was first published May 31, 2025