The Munson Diner just up and left Manhattan this week. No farewell blue-plate special, no second cup of joe. It waited for the light to turn green, made a left on 11th Avenue, and rumbled away from a city that had lost the taste for its meatloaf and gravy.

The diner did not take its leave until 3:30 on Thursday morning, as if to say to nighthawks everywhere, This one's for you. Passing under the stage lights of mostly deserted streets, its silvery chrome dazzled, its beveled glass winked, and echoes of diner lingo spilled imperceptibly upon the pavement.

The place closed late last year after six decades of serving eggs lookin' at ya, and the property owners had no interest in short-order cooking. Word spread 100 miles northwest to Liberty, N.Y., where some entrepreneurs thought an authentic Manhattan diner could lend retro charm to their upstate town. But the deal did not include free or easy delivery.

Enter Mel Brandt, a specialist in diner relocation from Lancaster, Pa., whose hands are so grease-stained and callused that they look like gloves. The jobs just blur together: Disengaging Russell's Diner from Massachusetts one day, the Ideal Diner from Delaware the next. "Basically the same procedure," he growled. "But still different."

Distinguishing the Munson job was Manhattan, a place that Mr. Brandt found disorienting. But after spending days prying the building from its Hell's Kitchen foundation, he felt comfortable enough by Wednesday to eat his takeout lunch at the diner's darkened counter, using abandoned shakers to salt-and-pepper his chicken. Ike and Mike, those shakers used to be called.

By 2 the next morning, he and his crew - Paul, Eli and Omar - had things set for the move. At the southwest corner of 11th Avenue and 49th Street, a hole gaped where the diner had been, and on the flatbed of an idling truck sat a mostly intact, well-secured diner, with counter, stools and a menu marquee still offering meatloaf for $6.50. A sign on the plate-glass door promised the tastiest sandwich in town.

A waiter from another diner, Roger Cruz, stopped by to pay his respects. He lived around the corner, he said, and ate here many nights.

"Eggs and French toast, 4 in the morning," he said, looking into the hole. "Would sober me up before going to bed."

Mr. Brandt, 57 and looking it, tended to last-minute details while waiting for the state-certified escort cars that would lead him and his sleek cargo up Manhattan and across the George Washington Bridge. He wasn't quite sure of the route through this foreign terrain, though.

"Eleventh and 10th and Amsterdam?" he asked. "Does all that make sense to you?"

Shortly after 3, Mike Aprile and Pete Liota, partners in the Staten Island company S & M Vehicle Escorts, pulled up in vehicles adorned with yellow sashes saying "Oversize Load." The ride to the bridge shouldn't be too bad, Mr. Liota said. "You just got that hill in Harlem, from 125th to 135th. By City College there."

The sight of a diner festooned with flashing orange lights and practically floating in air caused a passing police car to pull over.

"Where they taking it?" one of the officers asked.

"Liberty."

"Where?"

FINALLY, it was time. Mr. Brandt walked over to his escorts, and all he did was nod. Mr. Aprile nodded back and said: "Rock and roll."

The light turned green. An escort vehicle turned onto 11th Avenue, followed closely by Mr. Brandt's truck, lugging a 50-foot-long diner that was 14 feet wide and looking as if it might still be open for business. Sensing that this was not an everyday occurrence in baffling New York, Mr. Brandt beeped his horn in exultation.

The Munson Diner grunted up the avenue at 30 miles an hour, turned east on 57th Street, then north onto Amsterdam, lumbering and trundling, as taxis rode beside it like a Secret Service detail in yellow. Lights glowed green in deference as it continued on, receiving a silent blessing from the Cathedral of St. John the Divine at 111th, an invisible diploma from City College at 136th.

Potholes and road bumps surely knocked free the diner's clinging ghosts, and released into the cool uptown air all those contained whispers of late-night plots and early-morning coos. Warm that up for you? That'll be two bits. See ya, doll.

The diner paused at the foot of the bridge, waiting for a Port Authority police car to lead it across the span. The black sky turned soft blue. The city stirred and yawned, but was not quite awake when a streamline diner slipped across the Hudson River, bound for Liberty.

originally published online here: http://www.nytimes.com/2005/05/07/nyregion/07about.html?