At a time when independent stores are in decline, Belbin’s Grocery—delivering the goods to St. John’s residents for close to 70 years—thrives, in what was once the family’s home. What gives?

On weekday mornings in East End St. John’s, they trail through the store like wire caravans—shopping carts, being pushed by Belbin’s Grocery employees in their beige uniform shirts. These are the jiggly-wheeled wagon trains of scores of virtual shoppers; the carts the workers are filling from phone, fax, e-mail or Internet orders have been plying the shiny black-and-white linoleum aisles of Belbin’s for longer than the notion of the virtual universe has even been common parlance.

At the cash, a clerk glances at the name on the top of an order form, and at the groceries on the checkout lane in front of her: “Those aren’t the kind of crackers she likes.”

These are orders for customers the employees know well, some of whom have been shopping at the store for years; customers whose house keys are on a Belbin’s key ring, who may come home to find their groceries put away in their fridges or cupboards.

Belbin’s has been an independent grocery store since 1943, when founder Robert Belbin had to leave his job at a St. John’s grocery store after developing arthritis.

“He decided he couldn’t just sit around and drink tea all the time, so he converted the front room of the house into a small convenience-slash-grocery store,” says his grandson, Chris Belbin, who, along with cousin Robert, are the third generation of Belbins to run the store.

It has long since taken over the entire house (family members continued to live upstairs until the early ’70s)—as well as the house next door; warehouse space has been developed behind and beneath the original building. What was 1,000 square feet is now more than 3,000, but there are still traces of the Belbin home—the original bright linoleum still lurks underfoot in a back bedroom, now stacked high with banana boxes full of receipts.

“It took over the living room first, and then it took over the kitchen, and then they moved the family upstairs,” says Chris, who is small and quick-smiling, with dark, close-cropped hair now flecked with grey.

The business eventually employed the founder’s sons, Fraser, Edgar (Robert’s father) and Douglas (Chris’ dad).

“Edgar was living on New Cove Road then, and he put most of the stock in his basement—he used to send it here every day,” says Chris.

At the time that Belbin’s opened, there were 10 or so other grocery or convenience stores within a short walk, and not many have survived. The grocery business is said to be one of the most competitive businesses, because the margins are so small.

There are a number of factors involved. Take shelving fees, where suppliers pay chain stores to stock their items, and pay a premium to stock them at eye level. It’s not a business for the faint of heart: the big boys in the grocery world invest considerable resources to make sure that their weekly flyer specials match or beat their competitors.

But Belbin’s isn’t necessarily trying to compete head to head—it’s made its niche offering something different, according to Chris.

“They’re all competition to us—you’ve got the Costcos and the Walmarts; everybody wants to get into grocery… but I prefer to go to the smaller stores where the people know what it is they’re trying to sell you. “

This is a store that puts out coffee, cookies and muffins for its customers every Sunday morning.

While the store may seem old-fashioned, squirrelled away in what was once a family home, it is actually forward-looking. Its storage rooms might look like an underground warren, fed from a trap door on the street by a 60-foot ramp of steel rollers, but the compressors for the coolers are carefully controlled to let the store recover all of their waste heat.

Its Internet site is easy to navigate, allowing you to see weekly specials and order from a detailed grocery list—with offerings from cod liver oil to bird seed, Pop Tarts and salt ribs—for delivery.

Eight years ago, Belbin’s added on commercial kitchens next to the grocery, launching its own line of ready-cooked meals—everything from macaroni and cheese to rabbit and seal flipper pie, and gingered shrimp and scallops.

“It’s a big line for us right now… for people who don’t, or don’t like to, or don’t have the time to cook, they know they can get a meal for a family of four, a family of six for a reasonable price, and it’s a good substitute for takeout pizza or deep-fried fish and chips.”

Chris says keeping ahead of competitors is not always easy—and that, as the ranks of grocery distributors have thinned, it’s become harder. At one time, competing reps would trip over themselves showcasing new products, but the reps are gone.

The third generation of Belbins now do their grocery intelligence both online, and with shoe leather.

“We have to do a lot of our own market research,” Chris says. “We also use [competitors] as a learning tool. We go to the supermarkets, walk around, see new products and say ‘Oh, that would work for us.’”

Amid the ordinary grocery items—the store now stocks more than 4,000 individual products—there are esoteric, specialty-shop finds: Olive oil flavoured with truffles; a Welsh sea salt smoked over oak; tiny single-fluid-ounce bottles of lime, orange and lemon oil that bear the daunting warning “Avoid prolonged full-strength contact with plastic spoons, bowls, etc., as the oil may have adverse effects on certain plastics.”

Keep in mind that Belbin’s is up against vertically integrated competitors—companies connected through a common owner—one being the wholesaler that supplies almost 50 per cent of the products Belbin’s sells.

“Some things we can’t compete on. Price is not everything to a lot of people,” Chris says. “But customer service and the ability to change gears fast—there, we can compete.

“Our customer base is not that large that you can’t call somebody by name. I can call most of the people who come into the store by the first name, or at least by ‘Mrs. Smith’ or ‘Mrs. Jones.’”

They’ve steadily brought in new products, trying ventures like a cheese club that introduces different types of cheeses for members to try. If enough people like a variety, it becomes standard fare, and the turnaround is quick: “We see that new product coming, and we take it.”

The breadth of change has been big: many years ago, the third generation brought in fax ordering, something foreign, given “crank adding machines” were still being used, Chris says. And that was just a beginning when he and Robert came back to run the business after working for years in building supplies.

“The Internet was a big step for us—we were probably one of the first grocery stores in St. John’s to go online. With our delivery service, we could print out the order, box it and send it to somebody’s house, and all they had to do was touch a mouse.”

Customer service stories? They are legion—a St. John’s writer, stricken with arthritis, posts on her Facebook wall that the clerks, not taking no for an answer, bring her groceries out to her car, saving her an afternoon of pain. Stories of the owners, often last to leave in the evening, reopening the store for last-minute customers 10 or 15 minutes after closing time. Even employees searching out five or six inches of string—free—so a customer can truss a roast chicken for the oven.

“Some places, when you walk up to clerks and they see you coming, they run off and hide,” Chris says.

None of the employees hide at Belbin’s.

As we tour the store, Chris points out every door that’s been moved, every spot where a trap used to let the family bring canned goods up from basement storage.

Virtual shopping? It’s a virtual history lesson, too.