Five summers ago, I traveled with family to Paris to follow in the footsteps of my literary ancestors. For a middle-age writer, deeply influenced by tales of black writers abroad, walking the streets of Paris is like traipsing a temple of the gods. I found their ghosts tucked along the narrow avenues of the Latin Quarter, where Langston Hughes once strolled the Boulevard Saint-Michel, hanging out in cafes.

I stopped at 6 Rue Christine, an avenue near the Jardin de Luxembourg. I touched the green door, the former residence of James Baldwin, a preacher's son whose incendiary criticism warned of racial Armageddon.

At 14 Rue Monsieur le Prince, I stared at the stone plaque placed there to honor Richard Wright. In 1947, Mr. Wright, whose novel "Native Son" made him one of America's most successful black authors, came to Paris. He never left. From 1948 to 1959, he lived at No. 14. His pilgrimage to Paris, in a way, made him a pioneer. In his path flowed others, establishing a virtual colony of black writers, all searching for a social and intellectual life free from U.S. racism.

There were other creative lights who came to Paris: Josephine Baker, Nina Simone and Henry Tanner, a Pittsburgh native who migrated to Paris and became the first black artist to have one of his paintings hang in the White House.

In the few days we were in town, we walked all over the Paris streets, paying homage to sites and images that recognize the legacy of blacks in the French capital.

What better way to end our tour than a farewell dinner at Chez Haynes, a soul food bistro folded into the bohemian Montmartre, a neighborhood that the poet Mr. Hughes called the Harlem of Paris. It was a perfect spot to reminisce over our journey and say farewell. The restaurant had been in Paris for five decades, founded by an American GI who spent time growing up in Kentucky, Chicago and Atlanta.

Over a dinner of spare ribs, red beans and chicken cooked with honey, my family and I shared memories of our trip with an expatriate waitress who greeted us in a frilly blouse and white apron. We vowed to return and dine again on the pleasures of Chez Haynes.

We'll never get the opportunity. In April 2009, Chez Haynes closed, shutting its doors on 60 years of offering a little piece of Louisiana soul food in the City of Light. Its history is worth remembering.

The oldest American restaurant in Paris, Chez Haynes was a fairly nondescript establishment, except for some parts of the outside, which resembled a log cabin. It was located on the pencil-thin Rue Clauzel in Montmartre. The white-bright Sacre Coeur basilica stood on a hill above it, and down below, it was flanked by small stores that sold flowers and fresh breads.

Inside, it was dark, with two twisting Turkish columns. It had a tin ceiling and linoleum floors. The aroma of the collard greens and yams and the dozens of photos splashed against the wall sweetened the legacy of Chez Haynes. In the 1950s and 1960s, the great and small flocked to this place. It was haunted by the spirits of Louis Armstrong, Lionel Hampton, Sarah Vaughn and Billie Holiday, whose photos hung on the stucco walls along with autographed ones of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.

Chez Haynes has its roots in World War II. Leroy Haynes, a thick, husky Morehouse graduate known as Roughhouse for his football skills, came to Europe as a soldier. He was stationed in Germany, but his travels took him to Paris. He fell in love with the city and married a young French woman, Gabrielle Lecarbonnier. In 1949, with $900, they opened a restaurant at Rue Manuel, a place known as "Gabby and Haynes," a forerunner of Chez Haynes. It was tough at the beginning. Mr. Haynes once told French journalists: "Chitterlings and soul food [were] a kind of food French people could not understand."

The restaurant flourished, however, as black American GIs discovered it and flocked to a place where they could find a taste of home: fatback and greens, fried sausage, and shrimp and chicken gumbo. They told the jazzmen, the jazzmen told the writers, the writers told other artists. In came Cab Calloway, Sidney Bechet, Count Basie.

Times changed. Mr. Haynes and his wife separated. He lived in Germany for a few years before coming back to Paris and opening a second restaurant, at 3 Rue Clauzel. It is rumored the site used to be a brothel favored by painters. This place became Chez Haynes. In the 1970s, other soul food bistros opened, drawing some attention from the legendary Chez Haynes, but the stars continue to come: Peter O'Toole, Sidney Poiter, Warren Beatty and Ray Charles.

Mr. Haynes continued his love affair with Paris. He took art classes, found bit parts in French gangster movies, and, for a time, presided over the Franco-American Fellowship, an organization that fights racial discrimination among American businesses in Paris.

He died in 1986, and for 23 more years, his restaurant hung on, thanks to his widow, Maria dos Santos, a Portuguese woman who breathed new life into the old house. For nearly 60 years, the menu stood the test of time, almost as if Mr. Haynes himself was there stirring the pot. Soul of America, a black travel guide website, raved over the New Orleans gumbo with shrimp, chicken and okra, Ma Sutton's fried chicken (with or without honey), Nellie Bee's barbecued chicken, Sister Lena's barbecued ribs, and sides including hot corn on the cob and okra and tomatoes. Desserts were fait maison (housemade) and included carrot cake and lemon pie.

The insight from Paris is that a declining economy, a lull in American tourism and a drop in local clientele weakened the restaurant, which already was hobbled by its lost luster. Chez Haynes was in an area of Paris' 9th District that is being spruced up and drawing more upscale traffic.

Chez Haynes did change to offer Brazilian themes, but it was not enough. It continued to fade. Two days after its closing, one former patron, Julia Browne, walked past and the red and black sign "Chez Haynes" over the door was gone. Ms. Browne, who runs walking tours in the neighborhood, told me that a journalist purchased the piano, but it's a mystery what happened to a Beauford Delaney painting of James Baldwin that used to hang above the hallway to the kitchen. The journalist saw others, who fondly remembered Chez Haynes, rummaging through the rubble of memorabilia tossed out by demolition crews.

"Haynes lost is relevancy long ago," Sharon Morgan, a former Parisian restaurateur now back home in Chicago, told me. "When Leroy Haynes died, his widow, Maria, did her best to keep it going -- and did quite well for many years. Over the long haul, she just didn't reinvest in keeping the facility up-to-date and marketing it effectively.

"There are not enough black people living in Paris to sustain a soul-food restaurant. It has to be appealing to everyone. Haynes is definitely a part of black history in Europe that will surely be missed for a very long time to come."

There is speculation that the space will become another restaurant, but Chez Haynes is lost to future generations. I'll always remember the night five summers ago, when my family and I were able to toast the creative lights who came to Paris before us. Adieu, Chez Haynes.

First Published: July 22, 2010, 8:00 a.m.