ROUTE August / September 2020

ROUTE THE MAGAZINE THAT CELEBRATES ROAD TRAVEL, VINTAGE AMERICANA AND ROUTE 66

August/September 2020

Magazine

THE AMERICANA ISSUE $5.99

ROUTE Magazine i

WELCOME TO

Springfield, Missouri As the Birthplace of Route 66, Springfield is the perfect place to celebrate the legacy of the Mother Road. Learn how it all began at the newly-opened History Museum on the Square, see classic cars at the Route 66 Car Museum and enjoy a burger and shake at one of our vintage American diners.

SpringfieldMo.org/Route66 ii ROUTE Magazine

GallupRealTrue.com ROUTE Magazine 1

Buck Atom’s Cosmic Curios on 66 — Tulsa With his steely gaze and rocket ship in hand, Buck Atom is Route 66’s new Muffler Man.

Tulsa — As the tallest freestanding statue along Route 66, the 22-ton Golden Driller is Oklahoma’s official state monument.

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Sapulpa — See the world’s largest gas pump. It’s 66 feet! Tour the Heart of Oklahoma Route 66 Auto Museum while you’re there.

Arcadia — One of TripSavvy’s 5 MustVisit Restaurants on Route 66, POPS is the perfect pit stop spot. Sip on one of 700 kinds of soda pop!

Discover more must-see gems on Route 66 at Travel

El Reno — Located where the Rock Island Railroad and historic Chisholm Trail intersect, this shield is the ideal Route 66 family photo op.

.com.

Elk City — Made from oil drums and scrap metal, this 14-foot kachina doll — known as Myrtle — has greeted Route 66 travelers since 1962.

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Leave Your Mark in

Amarillo!

VisitAmarillo.com 800-692-1338 4 ROUTE Magazine

GO WEST FOR YOUR

grand

canyon ADVENTURE

888-868-WEST (9378)

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Oklahoma City Museum of Art American Banjo Museum

THE MODERN FRONTIER

When your heart is nudging you to hit the open road, follow it and discover a city that's wide open with possibility.

Oklahoma City's stretch of Route 66 promises an experience that's alive with adventure and a welcome that's genuinely warm.

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DISCOVER THE

STRETCH OF ROUTE 66 TOP 6 MUST-DOS* 1

Journey historic milestones with the Walk This Talk audio tour.

2

Visit the world-famous road house The Museum Club.

3

Cruise preserved stretches of authentic Route 66.

4

Enjoy the many restaurants, breweries and stores adorning the Mother Road.

5

Capture the perfect photo with a Mother Road mural or neon sign.

6

Stay at a motorcourt hotel!

Photo by Cameron Clark Photography

*When travel restrictions are lifted and partners are open.

ROUTE Magazine 7

CONTENTS

Save Way Gas, Amarillo, Texas. 1979. Photograph courtesy of John Margolies.

18 Reviving a Giant

By Katy Spratte Joyce The old road is home to a number of the nation’s remaining fiberglass giants, muffler men from a bygone era. However, only one of these mythical figures starts the adventure west. His journey, as well as that of his guardians, is a story fit for Route 66.

26 Mystery in the Desert

By Olivia McClure If quirky classic Americana is what you’re searching for, look no further than one of the country’s most debated roadside attractions; worth your while or a waste of time? The Thing, decades on, continues to draw in motorists searching for the answer to the critical question: What is it?

46 A Conversation with Danny Glover

By Brennen Matthews One of the film industry’s most versatile, talented actors, Danny Glover takes readers on a trip through the intriguing decades of his life.

stands out with its classic architecture and wraparound vivid green neon lighting. Boots Court Motel has been in business since the late 1930s, and under the care of a trio of determined ladies, continues to be a must-stay while traversing America.

68 Holiday Inn: The True Story

By Richard Ratay We all know the name and have most likely stayed at one of the iconic destination’s many locations, but how many know the real account of the Holiday Inn? It is a voyage that will surprise you and pique your interest.

74 Old Florida

By Hayley Bell Florida in the mid-20th Century represented perhaps the most odd and unexpected Americana on offer in the country. As domestic tourists packed their automobiles and headed off in search of America like never before, Florida was where they headed, and entrepreneurs were ready for them, in a very big way.

54 Sunday at Sid’s

By Heide Brandes Located in the warm Oklahoma town of El Reno, a short distance from OKC, yet a world away, Sid’s remains a burger joint like no other. Compact and antiquated, Sid’s food is as tasty as its familyfocused narrative. This is a diner with heart and a great yarn.

60 Relighting History

By Alex J. Rodriguez Neon is a magical part of spending the night on the Mother Road, and Missouri has more than its fair share, but one venue 8 ROUTE Magazine

ON THE COVER The Blue Whale of Catoosa, OK. Photograph by Efren Lopez/ Route66Images.

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EDITORIAL Classic Americana is a term that is used quite a bit these days. It represents nostalgia for an ideal way of life that was lived out in small towns and cities across America during the mid to late 20th Century. It is our longing for a period of time that, in large part, no longer exists, but that we pine to experience nonetheless. However, if you venture away from the fast moving freeways and meander a little down America’s two-lane routes like highway 20 and 80, 50 and of course, Route 66, you will actually discover that classic Americana is still alive and well, and not in a bubble, not manufactured to pull people off of the highway. While traveling down the country’s old roads, you will come face to face with towns that live their lives more simply, less generically. And right alongside these little communities, visitors often bump into giant muffler men, refurbished gas stations, vintage cars, enormous structures like rocking chairs, forks and dinosaurs, and of course, some pretty strange roadside attractions. But that is America. It is a land filled with wonder and people too stubborn to simply “modernize” or die away.

In this annual issue, we celebrate some of the very best classic Americana that the country has to offer. We introduce you to one of the most amazing motels on the Mother Road, Boots Court Motel. In the daytime, the venue does not really look like much, especially in the baking Carthage, Missouri, sun, but at night, well, that is when the magic begins. The 81-year-old venue’s vivid green neon is second to none on the fabled highway and creates a sort of wonder that is reflective of much of Route 66. But its story, now that is where the real lure begins.

Nothing screams ultimate road trip like unusual vintage gas stations. In this issue, we showcase famed photographer John Margolies’ best and oddest pictures from his decades out on the road. Discover filling stations that must have brought wonder to customers and caused others to scratch their heads in confusion. It makes us beg the same question: where did the proprietor possibly get the idea? But if nothing else, it sure is a lot of fun to look back at.

Who here has encountered a giant? America’s Main Street has plenty! Route 66 is laced with some of the last remaining muffler men in existence, and I have a favorite.

I hesitate to share it with you as I don’t want to offend any of the other fiberglass folk still safeguarding the old road, but to me, the Gemini Giant in Wilmington, Illinois, stands a head taller than all the rest. From the first time that I met him face to face, there was something unique, enchanting, and I have never been able to shake it. Join us as we plunge into a story that is multi-layered; an epic tale of loss, love and discovery that includes an unassuming day of hunting for knickknacks.

And what issue focusing on historic America would be complete without delving into The Thing, Arizona’s very own legendary monster tale? To some, a waste of time and money, to others, a creepy, odd attraction in the middle of the desert, but regardless, everyone who has gone out of their way to visit the attraction has left with a memory. The tale behind the spectacle is nothing short of turn of the century sideshow in nature and filled with characters that are right at home in the era.

This is perhaps my favorite issue of the year. I adore kitschy roadside attractions and I am always curious about eccentric people and their peculiar journeys. America is packed with the unexpected, and bumping into a fading antiquated road sign or rundown relic of a bygone era is delightful. It is a privilege to dive into the legend of Old Florida, to chronicle the demise of the Mojave Phone Booth and to spin a yarn around one of the most iconic and beloved hamburger joints in Oklahoma. I hope that you also take delight in reading their stories.

As you hit the pavement in 2020, travel safely and enjoy all of the people and places that you encounter. If you do it right, your journey will be nothing short of memorable.

Follow us on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram for updates, conversations and good ol’ road travel camaraderie. There is always a lot going on on our social media platforms, so you won’t want to miss. If you have not already, subscribe to ROUTE and support us as we celebrate classic Americana and the people who have, and continue to, make America the unique destination that it is.

See you down the Road, Brennen Matthews Editor 10 ROUTE Magazine

ROUTE PUBLISHER Thin Tread Media EDITOR Brennen Matthews DEPUTY EDITOR Kate Wambui EDITOR-AT-LARGE Nick Gerlich LEAD EDITORIAL PHOTOGRAPHER David J. Schwartz LAYOUT AND DESIGN Tom Heffron EDITORIAL ASSISTANTS Alex J. Rodriguez Matthew Wade Phoebe Billups Theresa Romano DIGITAL Matthew Alves ILLUSTRATOR Jennifer Mallon CONTRIBUTORS AND PHOTOGRAPHERS Carrie Productions Doug Holdread Efren Lopez/Route66Images Hayley Bell Heide Brandes James Livingston John Margolies Katy Spratte Joyce Ken Breslauer - Roadside Florida Archives Mark A. Payler Mwf95 Olivia McClure Richard Ratay Scott Blackwell Editorial submissions should be sent to brennen@routemagazine.us To subscribe visit www.routemagazine.us.

Advertising inquiries should be sent to advertising@routemagazine. us or call 905 399 9912.

ROUTE is published six times per year by Thin Tread Media. No part of this publication may be copied or reprinted without the written consent of the publisher. The views expressed by the contributors are not necessarily those of the publisher, editor or staff. ROUTE does not take any responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts or photography.

DISCOVER CLINTON, OKLAHOMA

WHERE ROUTE 66 TRULY COMES ALIVE!

• HIS TORI C HOTE L S• D IV E RS E D INING• •M OHAW K LOD G E IND IAN S TORE• •THE WATE R ZOO•

www.clintonokla.org ROUTE Magazine 11

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constellation of miniature fiberglass cars—ten Chevys and three pickup trucks—dot themselves around downtown Pontiac, Illinois. Each of these bite-sized, automotive delights acts as a canvas for individually themed designs hand-painted by a collection of talented local artists. A seasonal attraction that runs from May to November, the 13 creatively crafted cars pose unobtrusively on the pavement of Pontiac’s buzzing, welcoming sidewalks in a display that showcases the town’s quintessentially Middle-American spirit.

On one street corner, a patriotic rainbow of red, white, and blue coats the porcelain surface of a classic convertible sporting an All-American motif. On another, a collage depicting Picasso’s masterpieces forms a vibrant mural along the paneling of a classic 1920’s pickup. Every one of these pygmy automobiles contains its own unique intricacies, stories, and character. Together they help contour the identity of a small town with a big heart.

These Art Cars function simultaneously as a tourist attraction and community development project.

Originally dawning the streets of Pontiac in 2010, the installation was commissioned by the city as part of their downtown revival initiative. While the project brings a refreshing light to Pontiac, it also represents much more than a photo opportunity; it illustrates the town’s inherent connection with the Mother Road and the historic highway’s car culture. A staple Route 66 destination, Pontiac comprises a community devoted to preserving and celebrating its traditional identity — an identity deeply enlaced with the fabled highway. With the small but brilliant vehicles adding fresh, flourishing hues, the town’s kaleidoscopic history remains as colorful as ever.

Many of the Art Cars’ designers come from backgrounds that intertwine with Pontiac’s Route 66 heritage. Joyce Cole, one of these artists, runs the gift shop at the world-renowned Illinois Association of Route 66 Hall of Fame and Museum and contributed a wonderful Mother Road-inspired design.

“I do a lot of travel journaling on Route 66 – as well as my other travels. They’re not just journals. They’re also drawings and sketches,” she explained. “When I got the little car, I decided to pretend as though {I was] on Route 66 and journaling right on my car, so I painted a ribbon of road along the car. I started in Chicago, and I just drew sights along the way like I would in my journal.” From the sprawling plains to peaceful deserts, Cole’s design features elegantly detailed scenes that portray the iconic landscapes patterning Route 66.

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PON T I AC

Joe Diaz, another contributor to the Art Car project, owns a sign illustration shop, Diaz Signs, which offers a wide array of artistic services, including everything from hand-painted signage to truck decaling. In addition to his business, Diaz maintains a prominent presence within the local art scene, helping develop and install many of the town’s magnificent murals that adorn whole sides of Pontiac’s historic buildings.

In a fond gesture to his passion, Diaz notes that his Art Car design works to reflect the mural in which the car sits in front of, the “Pontiac on Route 66” mural, which features a blown-up rendition of the town’s welcome sign foregrounded by a yellow Cadillac.

As an artist and member of the community, Diaz takes pride in the town’s connection to Route 66. “When traveling through Pontiac, you take the Route, and you really see what America is like. I think that’s why it’s so popular with tourists. You can go to the big cities on the coast, or, you can go drive through the heartland of America, and see these small towns, little attractions, restaurants and diners,” Diaz remarked. “Like many [of these] small towns on Route 66, (the road) always used to be an important artery into the town that would bring visitors… to stop in our shops, restaurants, gas stations. I think that’s why there’s a connection with the road, and I think they were thankful for the road.”

Pontiac traces its past along this relationship with Route 66. Over the course of the last century, the highway alignment shifted away from downtown four times to avoid congestion from roadside businesses. These changes prompted businesses to drift away from town, creating a commercial absence in the heart of Pontiac. However, Pontiac’s Art Cars serve as an added initiative to reverse this trend and bring industry attention back to the thriving soul of Pontiac.

Whether a tribute to the Route, a photo opportunity for those young at heart, or a design honoring a respected artist, each Art Car demonstrates Pontiac’s enduring synthesis with Route 66. In their design, the Pontiac Art Cars express this same spirit in their own way. Conceived and imprinted by the skill of their creators, each car writes its own travel journal entry, capturing a piece of the town’s legacy in its homemade imagery. Together, the cars paint a candescent tapestry that illuminates Pontiac’s deep-rooted, all-in bond with the Mother Road.

Image courtesy of Efren Lopez/Route66Images.

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efore the concrete of Route 66 had ever been laid—before the existence of the automobiles that grace its boundless, open road—before six of the eight states along this historic motorway were even admitted into the Union, there was another American superhighway. The Santa Fe Trail, a revolutionary trade route forged during the early 19th Century, connected the freshly minted state of Missouri to present day Santa Fe, New Mexico, which, at the time, was part of a northern Mexican territory known as “Nuevo México.” The establishment of this commercial artery opened the door to an incredible new trade environment and set the stage for the United States to become an international superpower.

Prior to the Santa Fe Trail’s formation, the U.S. had been clamoring to grow its economy by expanding trade with France and Spain, two colonial giants who had their own ulterior motives to strengthen their grip on the “New World.” These power-hungry mentalities created barriers to streamlined trade and festered disagreement over disputed regions like the sprawling territory lying west of the United States’ slowly expanding border. This tantalizing frontier, what we refer to today as the Great Plains, became the backdrop for the Trail. It stretched over 900 miles, running west from the Mississippi River, all the way to the southern Rocky Mountains, and contained countless acres of farmland, as well as access to a treasure trove of natural resources like gold, game, and steel—all resources that were highly sought after and viciously fought over.

“Everybody was vying for North America: the British, the French, the Spanish—even the Russians. They were all vying 14 ROUTE Magazine

Illustration by Doug Holdread.

]

THE ROUTE BEFORE THE ROUTE

for the riches that could be found by the natural resources that were in North America. The western half of the U.S. (west of the Mississippi), was Spanish territory—at least in tacit terms. So, it becomes [a] highly politicized [area] almost immediately. That’s one of the major difficulties: claim to territory over which the Trail ran,” explained Michael Grauer, member of the Bent’s Fort Chapter of the Santa Fe Trail Association and curator of western art at the National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum in Oklahoma City.

The christening of the Santa Fe Trail in 1821 represented a major breakthrough in international trade and directly correlated with the independence of Mexico from Spain during that same year. The Mexican approach to trade, especially with the U.S., presented a much more welcoming and amicable stance than their colonizers. This geopolitical shift prompted a swell of trailblazers to jump in their covered wagons and pursue newfound opportunities out west. This surge resulted in the formation of a new, monumental trade route that packed itself full of ranchers, fur traders, and emigrants hoping to start a new life on the frontier. However, what often gets overlooked is that this frontier was already inhabited by a thriving, commanding nation.

“The other part of the equation, and a lot of times people forget, but the Comanches basically ran everything in the middle of the [present day] United States. They didn’t have a vote, so people took them for granted, but [their] inland empire ran from the front range of the Rocky Mountains all the way to the Mississippi valley. The Santa Fe Trail cuts right through the heart of their territory, [so] you didn’t go out there unless you had their permission, but most of the time they would give you their permission,” illuminated Grauer.

Over the course of the next 60 years, before the railroads took over, the Santa Fe Trail served as a massive conduit for exchange, but not just for manufactured goods and agricultural products. It also allowed different communities, nationalities, and backgrounds to weave themselves into the cultural fabric of one another. It united an enormous mosaic of people, which in turn created an equally gigantic theater of cooperation and conflict. The Trail gelled into the tumultuous yet crucial history that shaped the United States during the 19th Century, becoming a common pathway for soldiers during the disputes between the Republic of Texas and Mexico, the Mexican-American War, and the American Civil War. All this to say, the Santa Fe Trail played a massive role in changing the landscape of the American West.

Acknowledging this historical impact is essential to understanding America today. That’s why in 2021, which marks the bicentennial of the Santa Fe Trail, Grauer and his team at the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum are preparing a substantial exhibition dedicated to the Santa Fe Trail’s legacy. “The Santa Fe Trail Bicentennial is vital to what we do—to telling that western story,” he exclaimed.

In formulating this exhibition, the Museum is implicitly marrying the worlds of two foundational highways. It is a fitting gesture—the fact that this staple stop along the Mother Road is set to become a site that honors the very entity that paved the way for its existence. This bonding of Route 66 and the Santa Fe Trail is a poetic instance in which history mirrors itself, but, perhaps more importantly, it shows us how we live out our past each and every time we hit the road.

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here’s something about the visionary aura cast around Route 66 that provokes the whimsical nature of our imagination. Where else can you enjoy the company of a giant, cartoonish whale or witness a kaleidoscopic lightshow projected by the LED rings of a towering soda pop bottle? Through her spirit of entrepreneurship, creativity, and wonderment, the Mother Road has birthed a one-of-a-kind family of larger than life spectacles. This collection weaves itself into the cultural, communal, and geographical landscapes that adorn America’s Main Street, and it is when these diverse settings intersect and harmonize with one another that the truly incredible takes center stage.

Missouri has seen its fair share of extraordinary moments within its nearly 300 miles of Route 66 pavement. Moreover, the “Show-Me State” certainly adheres to its title by boasting some of the most lush, forested, and scenic sections of the iconic highway. Within that range of abundant wildlife lies a sense of inspiration that radiates from the endless rivers and tree-coated hills. This magnificent environment has led communities along this stretch of the Mother Road to adopt their own, distinctly Missourian, Route 66 identity.

This hearty personality has sparked some novel Route 66 creations across the state, none of which are more original or serendipitous than Waynesville’s Frog Rock. Affectionally referred to as “W.H. Croaker”—short for Waynesville Hill Croaker—this unusually shaped rock juts out sharply over a steep knoll that overlooks America’s Main Street. However, the peculiarity of this out-of-place stone extends far beyond

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its seemingly random presence. A rainbow of greens and yellows accentuated by strokes of navy and burgundy have been coated onto this rock for the purpose of animating its toad-like features. The resulting image painted on this unique boulder is that of a supersized frog.

Now, you surely must be wondering how and why this chunk of stone received the same treatment as someone who just visited the state fair’s face painting booth, but in order to understand W.H. Croaker’s creation, one must first get acquainted with the history and physicality of the area he inhabits. A speck of a town, Waynesville situates itself in the heart of Pulaski County, a vast region spanning 550 square miles with a populace numbering just a hair above 52,000.

The citizens of this rural county figure themselves as an interconnected community, a neighborly network bound together by 33 breathtaking miles of Route 66.

Beth Wiles, Executive Director of the Pulaski County Tourism Bureau, has spent her entire life embedded in this tight-knit community, having been born and raised in nearby Fort Leonard Wood, a massive military training installation with over 13,000 residents. She has worked at the Bureau for the past 18 years, while also managing the county’s hospitable Visitor’s Center located right off St. Robert’s portion of Route 66. Due to this nearly two-decade tenure, Wiles has accumulated an extensive knowledge of her beloved county’s history, and, in turn, a firsthand understanding around the conception of W.H. Croaker.

“About 18 years ago, MoDOT decided to expand the Route 66 roadway to three lanes [because it would] kind of help traffic going up the hill,” she explained. “They started blasting away the side of the hill on the bluff there, and as they did that, a huge boulder just stood out. The city of Waynesville got to talking about it, and they were like, ‘Let’s just leave it—because it’s kind of a unique sight to see.’ One of the workers at the city of Waynesville looked at that boulder and thought, ‘My gosh, that looks like a frog!’

So, they all kind of talked about it, and a local tattoo artist named Phil Nelson said, ‘You know what? I can go up there and I can chisel a little bit on him to bring out some extra features, and I will paint him for you.’ So, that’s how Frog Rock came to be!”

Unfortunately, the maestro behind W.H. Croaker’s design passed away suddenly in 2018, but the countless hours Phil Nelson spent up on that bluff, sculpting and painting this amphibian masterpiece, did not go to waste; Mr. Croaker remains as vigilant and dazzling as ever. “Now Frog Rock is kept up over time by various community volunteers. Often times they come from Fort Leonard Wood. They’ll go up there and clean around him and repaint him every few years,” elaborated Wiles. W.H. Croaker’s sustained brilliance serves as a testament to his cherished presence within the county and overall allure to passing tourists. “The community adores Frog Rock. I think it brings a smile to people’s faces when they see him. You see people pulled off at the shoulder taking pictures all the time. It definitely still catches people’s eye.”

Forged from the canvas-like hillside that contours this picturesque stretch of Route 66, Waynesville’s Frog Rock exemplifies how the fabled highway has both literally and figuratively shaped the terrain of America. When those traversing the Mother Road enter this landscape bejeweled with wildlife and abundant greenery, the sincere gaze of W.H. Croaker will beckon them to explore more of Missouri’s rich, unusual beauty.

Image courtesy of Mark A. Payler.

Me et W. H . C ro a ke r, A Ro c k Th at R i b b its

PULA’ FAST ONE. Get ready to stop and grab a selfie. Our iconic

33-mile stretch of historic Route 66 is filled with photo-ops like the painted frog rock (known as WH Croaker by the locals), the old Gascozark Café, and this 1923 steel truss bridge over the Big Piney.

Plus, you’ll find some of the best chicken wings, craft beers and frog legs along the way.

Plan your trip at PulaskiCountyUSA.com.

ROUTE Magazine 17

REVIVING

By Katy Spratte Joyce Photographs by Efren Lopez/Route66Images 18 ROUTE Magazine

A GIANT ROUTE Magazine 19

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erendipity never fails to reach its hand into the countless tales of wackiness and happenstance that define Route 66. There’s something about the magnetism of the Mother Road that reels in folks from the most arbitrary of circumstances, blends them together, and produces some of the most random yet awe-inspiring creations this country has ever seen. Every so often there comes a story with a perfect medley of redemption, camaraderie, and, of course, a healthy dose of American kitsch. Among this tapestry of triumphs and losses looms a surreal figure who has watched over the Route and all its sagas for nearly half a century. He is known by the title of Gemini Giant; he is one of the most mythical of his kind, and over the course of his storied life sitting outside The Launching Pad restaurant in Wilmington, Illinois, he has witnessed first-hand the heartwarming effect that serendipity has had on America’s Main Street.

A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it small town in Will County, Wilmington – founded in 1834 – is home to one of the most well-known Muffler Men statues to call Route 66 their own.

Muffler Men are large fiberglass statues that were designed as roadside advertisements or attractions in the 1960’s and 1970’s, and most were inspired by the mythical lumberjack of Midwestern lore, Paul Bunyan. The result is a much-loved group of over 20-foot-tall statues sprinkled across the country, many on or near the Mother Road. In their heyday, there were hundreds of Muffler Men, and some women too, designed to promote businesses all across the nation and to inspire epic road trip adventures. Nowadays, only around 150 of these iconic statues remain. “[He] is one of the most famous, if not the most famous,” said American Giants President Joel Baker. “There are probably a few different reasons for that, one being that it is the only surviving space version left, so it has a very unique look. [He] is also on a very well-traveled section of old Route 66 in Illinois, a state that has one of the largest [remaining] populations of Muffler Men.” Standing at an enormous 30 feet tall and a hefty 438 pounds, Gemini was created during the space race era and named after America’s second space mission, the Gemini program. He is an impressive figure, fully outfitted in a one-piece green space uniform and a silver helmet. With a rocket in his hands, he is ready for his mission. His eyes are stoic but warm, and if visitors find him at the right moment, when the air is still and the giant is alone, there is an unexpected sadness that flows from his eyes. Gemini has remained loyal and protective over his little eatery for over 55 years now and has seen the rise and fall of Route 66 and his picturesque little town. He has witnessed his restaurant’s decay and change of hands numerous times, and he has watched as travelers forgot about him and the magic of the Mother Road. He has seen a lot. He may only be a fiberglass statue, but there is something more to this spaceman. His presence holds a million stories.

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Standing adjacent to the aptly named Launching Pad Restaurant – originally the Dairy Delite – a longtime restaurant on famed Route 66 that was opened in 1960

by John and Bernice Korelc but later changed to The Launching Pad following an expansion in 1965 – Gemini seems more upbeat these days.

And there is a reason for him to be. Things are looking up.

Way up!

Driving Toward Destiny Holly Barker and Tully Garrett, based in nearby New Lenox, Illinois, simply wanted to go antiquing. Every Thursday, Tully would take off work at his family’s insurance company and they would just drive. “We’d get in the car, no particular place in mind. We’d just put it in drive and head straight out. Where we ended up, we would end up,” said Tully. This tradition led them down a very unexpected path that day.

“So, I posted on my Facebook page, “Holly and I want to go antiquing.

Can anybody give me recommendations?” Tully continued. “I got like 30 or 40 comments back. The majority of them said go to Wilmington, Illinois, on Water Street, which is their main street, and the entire downtown is antiques. [So], that’s what we did.”

The two jumped in the vehicle for the 25-minute drive to small town America, uncertain of what they would find.

Despite living in proximity much of his life, Tully had never been to Wilmington. And even more ironically, Tully wasn’t even aware of the giant’s existence. This is actually not terribly uncommon across America’s Main Street.

“A lot of people would think that me living here my whole life, I’d be very attuned to Route 66 and what it has to offer.

The reality is our [family] insurance agency was located on Route 53 in Romeoville, and it had been there since 1962. Now, Route 53 is the main highway from Chicago down through a large part of Illinois. And a lot of locals, I’m gonna say the tail end of the baby boomers and forward, have always [known] Route 53 as 53. There had not been a lot of hoopla in the 70s, 80s or 90s or forward of it actually being Route 66,” said Tully.

However, historic Route 66 and Route 53 are actually one and the same as it passes through little Wilmington.

At the time, the couple didn’t even know that they were on Route 66. But they did enjoy the quietness of the road

Tully getting the Museum ready for the day.

and peacefully absorbed their surroundings. Then, as the road curved, entering the town of Wilmington, there he was, Gemini. Quirky, looming. Impossible to miss.

“So, we came down Route 66. Again, I wasn’t even thinking that it was Route 66 yet. I was thinking it was Route 53, and we came around this curve… I noticed, as we traveled a little further south, five, 10, 15, 20 minutes, it was getting more rural, less density, and felt kind of like Tennessee,” said Tully.

“So, the long and short of it is that Holly and I were in the car and, as we’re coming around this curve, it started to straighten out, and the very first thing we saw, about 200-300 yards away, was the statue of the Gemini Giant. I had never seen it.

I had never heard of it. Holly hadn’t, either. We found ourselves being tourists, and not even knowing it.

We got out of the car and walked up to the statue. At this point we didn’t even see the building. We went up and looked at this spaceman. We were perplexed, like, what is it? At the same time, there were about four or five cars in the parking lot.

The very first thing that caught my eye was a gentleman to the left of me,” Tully continued. “He had a really strange accent.

I said to him, ‘Are you from around here? You sound like you

have some type of accent. What are you here for?’ He pointed straight at the giant and went, ‘I’m here to see the Gemini Giant.’ This guy’s from India, Egypt, wherever he is from, and there he is pointing to [Gemini]. It was a big deal for him.”

Baffled, the couple observed as international tourists from across the globe arrived to pay homage to the Gemini Giant and to historic Route 66. They chatted with them and asked about their journeys and stood amazed at the lure that this little spot in a rural Illinois town had on travelers from across the world.

“They would take pictures and leave. Another two to three cars would come, it was just continual for that entire hour,” said Holly. “We thought it was kind of neat. We did the tourist thing, we got our picture, jumped in [the car] and did the antiquing a couple blocks away. As we were heading back, we took a look over. Again, the parking lot was getting full. We were like, holy smokes.”

Holly and Tully felt a deep urge to stop one more time. They were drawn to the giant. This time, they stayed for half an hour, and then finally noticed the dilapidated eatery. At first, they couldn’t even determine what it was, or what it used to ROUTE Magazine 21

Tully and Holly hard at work with Gemini looking in.

be. Perhaps a convenience store or an old gas station? Holly looked inside and thought that it could have been a restaurant due to the decrepit machinery. Finally, she noticed a “For Sale” sign tacked onto a dirty windowpane. Holly Barker made a decision there and then: “We need to save this place.” Barker, who had experience working in restaurants from the day she turned 16, could see a future at The Launching Pad and felt an immediate connection.

Tully thought to himself, “I’m a preservationist. I love saving old things. I’m not a fan of these communities where developers come in and tear down the old buildings and put in little formulated strip malls with nail salons. You go from one town to the next and they all look the same, and you’ve lost the fingerprint of that community.” He was on board.

So, in October 2017, the couple purchased the property with its legendary fiberglass man and got down to work.

But whatever was Gemini thinking at this point?

Loss and Love Perhaps kismet led these two to each other. After all, nothing is more universal than grief. In the prime of their young lives, both Holly and Tully had lost their spouses unexpectedly to cancer. In Barker’s case, her high-flying executive husband Jordan, was diagnosed with skin cancer in 2007. It was a tragic blow.

“He was a Canadian and he was down in North Carolina setting up a service center for his company. I met him when I was living in Asheville and we dated for a short amount of time. We were both 28 years old [and] got married after six months! He was diagnosed with malignant melanoma skin cancer. Our son Jackson was six years old at the time.

It was a very serious form of melanoma; the possibility of him being alive in 10 years was about 20%. We had to go 22 ROUTE Magazine

through treatments at Duke University Medical Center for an entire year,” said Holly. “After [several] years of living in North Carolina he was offered the opportunity to move to Canada to run the Canadian operations for his company, so in 2009, we relocated to Ontario, and he lived another five years. He was rediagnosed with metastatic melanoma in 2014.”

He died six weeks later.

Jordan was only 41 years old.

Across the border, unbeknownst to either of them, Tully would also lose the love of his life, a year later.

“Nancy and I had met back in 1991, in her hometown of Evergreen Park, Illinois. We started dating around 1994 and got married in the fall of 1995. We were soulmates, we were just madly in love with each other from the time we first met,” Tully shared. “She worked in Joliet as a finance controller for a life insurance company. She was originally diagnosed with cervical cancer staged very lightly at 1b, in 2010. We had high hopes, and the odds were really with us, that we would get it taken care of, and basically eradicate the cancer. It did go fully away two or three times and she was cancer free. From 2010 to 2013, we had a lot of triumphs where we thought that we were out of the woods and she was healthy. And then in 2014, she went back in and the cancer had spread to several organs in her body. In February 2015, she was given the terminal diagnosis of 4b staging with no particular amount of time to live. She passed away on November 21st, 2015.”

Nancy was only 46 years old. She left behind two sons, Zander and Tyler, now aged 12 and 16.

“We had a good marriage; I would drive her crazy and she’d drive me crazy, but it never took away the fact that we were absolutely head over heels for each other. I loved my wife deeply.”

Holly and Tully originally made contact via social media as they waded through their personal grief journeys. It was a time of searching, of reflecting. “We actually connected March of 2016 through a Facebook page for widows and widowers who are grieving,” said Tully.

“I started looking on Facebook to find grief support groups and I found one, it was a group that was designed for widows and widowers,” Holly added, “and it just so happened that Tully was in that same group. I was making posts about my journey and the things that were going on with me and he saw me, and I saw him, and we started communicating. I saw a post that he had written about the fact that he had to go to two of his really good friends’ funerals and he was really sad because he had just lost

Nancy eight months before, and he was already having to go back to funerals. He had made some really kind comments on my posts, so I just sent him a private message and basically just said to him, ‘You know, nobody’s gonna expect you, after losing Nancy, to be at all of these funerals.’ And from there we just started having a conversation that went into talking on the phone; we probably talked on the phone for about three or four months. And then… he has a home in Nashville, and I was in Charlotte at the time, and he was going to a music convention in Nashville, and he invited me to drive over to meet him. We had been talking on the phone and texting back and forth for a good four months, so I thought it was a good idea. We had a fantastic week there in Nashville.”

Eventually, the relationship deepened into a beautiful blended family, based in suburban Chicago. The couple spent the rest of the year trying to figure out the best way to merge their two families together. The first thing that they needed to decide was where they wanted to live their lives and build their home. Did they want to move to Tennessee or to North Carolina, or did they want to move to big city Chicago? In the end, they decided to focus on what was best for their boys. “They had good school districts up here in Chicago,” said Tully. “So, Holly moved up [north] in March or April of 2017.”

Finding Purpose

When they met, Holly was already working on something big, something highly personal. Where can people who have suffered terrible loss go to find solace, to locate the support that they need during what is undeniably the worst time in their life? Holly reflected on her own personal experience and journey and wanted to create an answer, a solution. And Grief Anonymous was born.

“It was my search for grief support, [for] any kind of overarching website that was going to send me to the locally based resources that I needed. There’s just so much out there that I couldn’t find, and I needed help. Basically, I created Grief Anonymous synonymous with the other anonymous programs. We have a step program. I met Tully while I was working on the concept. I founded Grief Anonymous on July 1st, 2016.”

Just six months later, there were millions of page views and hundreds of thousands of online members. Grief is a universal feeling and has a powerful ability to unite. “[Our goal is that] people will be able to connect quickly with a grieving community and know that they are not alone, and be able to be helped sooner,” said Holly. Everything they do for grieving people is free, including a resource network that is being built online. On a larger scale, Grief Anonymous even promotes the study of grief at the academic and medical levels.

Discovering the New in the Old The road to restoring The Launching Pad was not an easy one. Holly and Tully cashed out 401Ks and relied on their life savings to buy the dilapidated property that came with the Giant. What was estimated to be a six-month renovation project dragged on for a full year. Both owners were committed and earned sweat equity the old-fashioned way. About 5000 hours of labor between the two of them were required during that period. Tully explained, “Well, collectively, Holly and I probably did, I’m going to say, conservatively, 75-80% of the work. I had hired two friends of mine who were kind of Jack of all trades, a little electrical, plumbing, tile work, things like that. So, with the items that I was not well versed at, obviously doing tile and things like that, I would have them come in. But adding up all the hours… and at one point I think there was a stretch where

Holly in the gift shop.

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Gemini in the evening.

Holly and I were [around] 115 hours a week, every week, for three months.”

Even with all of their labor, the renovations cost far more than anticipated. And the new owners wanted to be intentional about the way that they opened the eatery. They were committed to supporting their new home of Wilmington.

They wanted to bring life to a once much-loved eatery and to create relationships with their fellow business owners.

“It was never our goal to come into town and put everybody out of business,” Holly said. “We kind of stepped lightly and tried to create a very unique menu that would showcase what the area is known for, which is the Chicago dog and the beef sandwich. I pulled up some of my southern stuff.”

Besides the total restaurant overhaul, numerous other projects had to happen too. There is also an Americana museum on-site, a Route 66 Welcome Center, and a delightful gift shop.

Of course, The Launching Pad couldn’t get a facelift without showing some love to its famous guardian, the 24 ROUTE Magazine

Gemini Giant, but there were numerous issues with the fiberglass man himself, including some worn off paint, cracked feet, and problems with the bolts securing his helmet. This investment turned out to be much larger than they had ever expected.

“He was erected in ‘65, the giant was only painted one time during this whole period of time, back in 1995 by a local painter. The helmet that sits on top of Gemini’s head, it has two bolts on the front of the helmet and two bolts in the back of the helmet that bolt into his neck to hold the helmet on. The two bolts in the back of the helmet were missing, the one bolt in the front of the helmet was missing. There was only one bolt that was only halfway in holding the entire helmet on. About 20 years ago, some little kid had kicked a football up into the helmet of the giant and that football lodged between his collarbone and underneath the helmet.

So really, that football was preventing the helmet from spinning around and covering his face. So, half a bolt and a football [were] all that was holding him,” sighed Tully.

“We had a local [painter] that I’ve known for 35 years, come out over the summer and donate about six weeks of his time. We had a local rental company [provide] us with a crane for free, and Sherwin-Williams helped us out with some paint, and we basically got him all done. He’s not actually 100% to our liking, we had some issues with the paint. Nobody’s ever pointed it out to us, but he’s really a much darker green. What happened is that the paint they were painting with was flashing and wasn’t staying on the fiberglass correctly and Sherwin-Williams finally determined that the only way to get it to stay on properly and stay that green metallic [color] is to use an actual power sprayer.” But to most, the shade of green is unnoticeable, and visitors are grateful to have an opportunity to visit old Gemini in his spruced-up form.

In June 2018, the couple put some lights at the base of the giant and had an official lighting ceremony that pulled a crowd from Wilmington and beyond. Now, motorists traveling down East Baltimore Street at night are sure to get a view of the fiberglass spaceman in the illuminated glow of the lights.

“If it’s two in the morning and you’re from Germany, you’re going to see this spaceman all lit up,” said Tully. “And Holly came up with an idea, she wanted to put glitter in his pupils, like a see-through glitter. [His] pupils actually glow.

When that light hits it at night, it’s quite the sight to see, because we have lit neon inside the helmet, lighting his face up, and when it hits that glitter and the glowing effect, it’s really, really neat. It’s lit just perfectly, there’s no shadowing, it doesn’t bleed into the street. You just come around the curve at night and there’s this beautiful spaceman glowing on the side of the road.”

Now how Route 66 is that?

In the end, perhaps the real serendipity comes from the magic of the Gemini Giant and Holly and Tully finding each other. For by doing so, the union has fostered a fresh sense of community, an impetus for all three of them, and has allowed for the building of a new connection, a connection to Route 66 and to a shared purpose of protecting an important piece of history that seemed—for a moment—lost in time. Illinois’ stretch of Route 66 is flying high these days with Tully Garrett and Holly Barker firmly playing an active role, and from Gemini’s 30-foot vantage point, the sky is clear for take-off.

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MYSTERY IN 26 ROUTE Magazine

THE DESERT

By Olivia McClure

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A

rizona harbors the unique ability to take people both back in time and high above the sea—sea level, that is. The state is landlocked, but its famous mountain ranges like the volcanic San Francisco peaks north of Flagstaff and the Chiricahua Mountains in the southwest jut out unforgivingly from the arid, mahogany deserts that surround them. At dusk, when the sun dips below the skyline, the state’s copper and burgundy landscape fades to black, and the shadow of night reveals the scattered stare of stars high above jagged, towering peaks. In a place like this, it feels like life takes on a different, more adventurous hue, and possibilities appear as endless as the horizon.

In the small town of Dragoon, which sits in the southwestern corner of the state, the idea of possibilities takes on an entirely new, unexpected meaning. Dragoon may be noticeably small—the 2018 estimate of its population hovers around 197—but its artistic ambitions, if they could be called such, appear larger than life.

Located on a desolate stretch of I-10, The Thing sits adjacent to a Dairy Queen and a Shell gas station, which doesn’t exactly suggest a place where otherworldly ideas and conspiracy theories converge. The structure is crowned by a large sign that reads “The Thing?”—just like the hundreds of billboards that dot highways across the region.

With its sprawling gift shop and 12,000-square foot museum, The Thing could be considered one of America’s most strange and random pit stops. In 2018, the attraction received a major upgrade, acquiring a new conspiratorial element to complement the mystery and ambiguity of its main attraction. Now, visitors to the attraction are taken through a tour of America’s possible past—one defined by dinosaurs and aliens, which as this peculiar exhibition claims, took part in some of the most important moments in world history.

“We kind of married the idea and notion of dinosaurs and aliens and created a storyline and actually created the theme, if you will, of aliens traveling to and finding Earth and integrating with the dinosaurs, basically enslaving dinosaurs,” said Kit Johnson, Director of Operations at Bowlin Travel Centers. “And the aliens, when they came, were of two descendants: one a good guy tribe, if you will, and a bad guy tribe. And they enslaved dinosaurs, until at some point, they were unable to accomplish that in total because of T-Rex and his power and, I guess, independence.

And then, the destruction of—the big meteorite event was not really that—it was a blast coming from an alien spacecraft that destroyed all the dinosaurs. And then aliens began integrating themselves into society from that moment on and have had a huge effect on the history of our world—either good or bad. And there’s a ‘What if?’ theme. What if aliens actually did integrate with society? What if they really did have a lot to do with the way our history played out over time? And the last exhibit, of course, is The Thing, which ties into this theory of aliens’ involvement with humanoids, and The Thing actually being that key that ties it all together.”

But before these extraterrestrial and primeval speculations came to fruition, The Thing, a mummified humanoid figure reminiscent of what Indiana Jones might find in some mythological ruins, stood alone in the barren Arizona desert.

One of the last of its macabre kind, The Thing is rooted in America’s carnival tradition, hailing from the long-lost art of “gaff” creation. While no one knows exactly when and where gaffs were created, their genesis is often attributed to circus mogul P.T. Barnum, who began his carnival career by showcasing human oddities, such as the alleged 161-year-old nurse of George Washington.

As Barnum’s traveling circuses began to dominate the realm of 20th Century entertainment, a crafty, eclectic man named Homer Tate was inspired to take up the gaff trade— and thus, The Thing’s journey began.

The Black Sheep of the Family

Homer Tate.

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Considering the morbid bizarreness of The Thing, it’s no surprise that its creator was as eccentric as the spectacle itself.

Sometime during the early 1940s, Tate had the idea to take his artistic talents to new heights. Inspired by the popularity

Aliens attack unsuspecting dinosaurs.

of sideshows during the era, Tate decided to profit off other people’s foolery in an ingenious, rather resourceful way. “[The Thing] was created by Homer Tate in 1950, and he was—well of course, everyone involved with The Thing was an interesting character,” said Ken Smith, co-founder of Roadside America. “He was a paper mâché artist, and he was actually kind of like a Norman Rockwell. He would do these very delicate, sort of whimsical themes of domestic life and very heart-string-tugging things. And for some reason, in the 1940s, he sort of dumped all that and started doing these monstrosities. He was an interesting guy because he would use paper mâché, but he would also incorporate biological pieces.

He would go out into the desert and find dead animals, and he would use, you know, skin, hair, nails, claws, all kinds of things that he would incorporate into these creations of his.

And, he ran a curio shop in Phoenix, and he had a catalogue to sell these things to sideshows, and they would be shown at carnivals, they would be shown at county fairs, etc... But Homer Tate is very well-respected among people who collect these kinds of things.”

Not only was Tate’s cadaverous enterprise quite unusual by ordinary standards, it also deeply offended his highly religious family. “They were Mormons, and he was known as the black sheep of the family because he was making these monstrosities,” Smith said. “And when this happened, he was like 70 years old. I mean, he wasn’t like a kid, you know? And the story is—who knows if it’s true or not—they got into his curio shop in Phoenix and destroyed all of his stuff because

they found it sacrilegious and disrespectful. So, there aren’t very many pieces of his that have survived, but The Thing is one of them, because he had sold it before that.”

The Thing Finds a Home in Arizona While Tate is credited with the creation of The Thing itself, an attorney named Thomas Brinkley Prince was responsible for bringing the famous gaff to Arizona. Originally born in Texas and raised in California, Prince ended up in the Grand Canyon state during the 1930’s as a student at Arizona State University. He then went on to the University of Arizona’s College of Law while his wife, Janet Prince, supported his studies by working at a local clothing store for 35 cents an hour. After obtaining his law degree, Prince bounced around the Phoenix legal scene for a number of years, even briefly serving as a prosecutor in the Maricopa County Attorney’s Office before World War II began. Over the course of the 1940’s, he and his family made their way up to Seattle, where Prince worked at a local law firm while also running a pool hall on the side.

As life during wartime passed, the 1950’s brought a breath of rejuvenation to the county, prompting many Americans to create their own new beginnings—Prince included. He decided to ditch the law profession, which he found “stuffy,” and migrated his family back to the scorching Mojave desert of his home state, where he planned on constructing his own house of curiosities off Highway 91— between Barstow and Baker, ROUTE Magazine 29

Beginning of the attraction.

California. Somewhere along the way, The Thing entered Prince’s possession, and according to the documented account of Janet, he bought the faux mummy off some traveling salesperson for fifty bucks. When Prince was forced to relocate his roadside attraction after losing his property to interstate highway expansion in 1965, the family elected to return to their roots in Arizona, building a new emporium near the newly minted I-10 with The Thing as its centerpiece. “[Prince] owned The Thing, and by the 1960s, he brought it with him back to Arizona from California,” explained Smith.

“When he built the attraction, it was actually sort of his version of a carnival midway, or a dime museum. He built it that way where you go in, and there’s all these exhibits that you would go through, and then you’ve got The Thing. Of course, these exhibits were just these everyday items that he would give these fanciful names to, which is sort of what P.T.

Aliens subjugate the dinosaurs.

30 ROUTE Magazine

Barnum did with the dime museums originally. So, that’s the way he built it back in 1965, it sort of hearkens back to that earlier sort of attraction where he turned what was a mobile attraction, which would go around to fairs and carnivals, and made it a permanent roadside attraction out in the Arizona desert. And he did it on an interstate, which was another odd thing, because we associate most of these roadside attractions with places like Route 66 and places like that, but The Thing has never been on a road like that. It’s always been on that interstate exit.”

While no one knows exactly why Prince decided to purchase this ghastly piece of memorabilia, the motives behind his acquisition are irrelevant when you acknowledge The Thing’s decades-old popularity and Prince’s business savvy. It’s clear his decision paid off. However, Prince’s time as owner of the roadside attraction ended in 1969 when heart difficulties and a series of strokes got the best of him. After her husband’s passing, Janet Prince assumed responsibility of The Thing, but with her life partner gone and only child, Michelle, attending Stanford, the isolation of living alone in a single trailer behind a shop in the middle of the desert became unbearable. After only a couple years of managing the business solo, Janet Prince leased the attraction to Bowlin Travel Centers Inc. and moved to Maryland, where she lived until her death in the early 2000’s.

After relocating, Janet never returned to Arizona to see The Thing again, but she used the lease payments from Bowlin to support Michelle and her two adopted children.

Perhaps more significantly, every year until her passing, Janet donated a portion of The Thing’s profits to support five $1,000 scholarships that she funded in her husband’s name at his alma matter, the University of Arizona Law School. Considering the countless hours that she spent all those decades ago scraping together her earnings so that her husband could get his degree, these scholarships served as Janet’s poetic gesture to continue her support of future

lawyers and their dreams (no matter how unorthodox they may be). Upon Janet’s death, Bowlin officially bought out the property housing The Thing, but still maintained the kitschy atmosphere that Thomas Brinkley Prince established nearly a half century ago.

“When [Prince] died in ’69 and Bowlin took it over, they didn’t change it,” Smith clarified. “They just left it the way it was. It was the same exact way in 2016 that it was in 1965.

So, that’s pretty remarkable that it lasted that way for so long. But I think the genius of Prince was that he could have opened an attraction and said, ‘Come see the dime museum!’

But no, he recognized that The Thing was the star, and that’s how he advertised [it], ‘The Thing! What is it?’ And that’s the genius of it because that’s what pulled people in. You know, he focused it like a laser beam right on The Thing. And it has survived because it [makes] money. They wouldn’t have kept it around if people weren’t [still] pulling off the road to come see [it].”

Although The Thing’s history is undoubtedly fixed in Tate’s sideshow craft, many people have developed their own theories about the object over the years. For instance, a rumor that The Thing is actually an embalmed mother and child has circulated over the years—inciting a bit of controversy in the process.

“In 2002, there was a court representing indigenous peoples in Arizona, and they approached Bowlin and said, ‘This is disrespectful. You need to bury The Thing because this is an ancient artifact,’” Smith recalled. “And they said, ‘No, it’s not.

It’s really fake.’ I like to think that Homer Tate would have smiled at that.”

In terms of The Thing’s advertising presence, it’s hard to miss the many giant billboards that constellate the southwestern highway from El Paso, Texas, to Tucson, Arizona. According to Smith, even this aspect of the attraction is unique. When Lady Bird Johnson joined the Keep America Beautiful Campaign during the 1960s, many billboards across the country were torn down—and yet, The Thing’s signature roadside campaigning still thrives to this day. “It worked in its favor that it was actually the only thing out there and escaped the harsh ‘tear down the billboards’ craze that swept across America during the late ‘60s and early 1970s. You know, there were other attractions that did that, but those billboards are all gone. The Thing is sort of a unique survivor that way,” he remarked.

“What If?” That Is the Question For an object shrouded in such mystery and controversy, The Thing is surprisingly simple in its respect. It could be viewed as one of the last remaining examples of raw human ingenuity—a one-of-a-kind relic from the days before television and internet defined society, when people were forced to rely on their own imaginations to have fun.

There’s no question that the hype surrounding The Thing is completely unwarranted. Yet, in Smith’s mind, the fact that The Thing is so laughably anticlimactic is key to its appeal.

“I think in America—we complain about it, but we like being fooled. You go, ‘Ah, I can’t believe I’ve got to pay a quarter to see this thing.’ And you go see it, and you go, ‘Ah, that was terrible.’ But you still do it anyway because, you know, it’s fun! And, certainly, The Thing never charged a lot of money. You could take the whole family back there. I say this a lot, but a good roadside attraction—it isn’t about

Good question.

what it is. It’s about what you remember. It’s about building a memory. And, certainly, The Thing, when you go there, you never forget it. You know, it’s always going to be something you talk about. People will say, ‘Oh, you were in Arizona! Did you see The Thing? Have you seen it? Yeah, oh yeah!’ There’s a certain intuitive genius to that, and The Thing is a great example of that.”

Since its inception, The Thing has morphed into a representation of what America once was, and perhaps what it still might be—even in the smallest sense. The attraction was born during a time defined by both creativity and change.

From the days of Martin Luther King and the civil rights movement to the moon landing, the 1960’s proved to be one of the most eventful, life-changing decades in American history — so why not unveil something as mystifying as The Thing to further kindle the American imagination?

For present-day visitors, The Thing will appear a little different than it did in its heyday, but the overarching theme remains the same as it’s always been.

“The whole theory—the basic theme throughout the Museum is the ‘What if?’ phrase, which gives you full latitude to determine for yourself if this thing is accurate or not,” Kit Johnson said. “We have created an experience for our customers and the people that go through the Museum that gives them—it’s fun, it’s challenging, it’s interesting. It gives them something else to think about in respect to our history of the planet, history of the country. There’s an entire wall of conspiracy theories—John F. Kennedy’s assassination, the Twin Towers, Amelia Earhart, and the whole theme is, what if aliens had something to do with some of these, if not all of these events?”

Regarding The Thing’s new conspiratorial element, Kit couldn’t say for sure if he believes that aliens and dinosaurs truly had a hand in world history. “That’s up to your imagination,” he said.

Indeed, The Thing is not the right attraction for those seeking answers to the world’s greatest mysteries. Rather, visitors can expect to walk away from their visit with many more questions than answers, but perhaps that’s exactly the point. For an attraction rooted in American ingenuity, The Thing certainly succeeds in fueling the imagination and fostering creativity.

So, the next time you hit the road in the Southwest, make sure to watch out for those great big billboards plastered against the desert sky, and remember to keep your mind as open as the horizon. After all, the greatest facets of life are the ones that keep us guessing, and thinking, “What if?”

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or several decades, a solitary phone booth stood in the middle of the Mojave National Preserve, miles away from civilization.

Riddled by bullet holes and carpeted by broken glass, it looked like it had seen better days. Long before the proliferation of smartphones and social media, such edifices were the only way to call strangers and friends when you were far from home. It had been placed there in 1948 to service cinder miners, but no one knows exactly by whom. Its only neighbors were desert plants, telephone poles and—if it was lucky—a passing coyote. Over all those years, it was silent, with only the wind breaking the quiet of the desolate landscape. But then one day … it began ringing. Like many legends, though, this story begins not with an object, but with a man.

In May 1997, Arizona resident Godfrey “Doc” Daniels was reading a zine when he stumbled across a peculiar letter to the editor. A fellow known only as “Mr. N” had spotted a dot labeled “telephone” on a map of the Mojave, fifteen miles from the nearest paved road. Intensely curious, Mr. N drove all the way out there, found the booth alongside a dirt path, and wrote down its number—760-733-9969. Now burning with the same curiosity that had fueled this mysterious writer, Doc called the number several times a day over the course of a month, hoping to contact whoever might be on the other end. He even placed a sticky note on his bathroom mirror that asked him, “Have you called the Mojave Desert today?” Doc had begun to lose hope, when one day, to his surprise, someone picked up—a cinder miner named Lorene.

The two made small talk for several minutes, but in his excitement, Doc forgot to ask her exactly where the phone booth was located. Fortunately for us, he tracked it down with a friend, drove out to it amid a fierce lightning storm, and made calls to his friends.

Then those friends began making calls to each other from the Mojave phone booth, thrilled by the strange novelty of it all. However, Doc was not content to keep this secret confined to such a small social circle. He soon created a website that listed the booth’s number, and suddenly people began making pilgrimages to this mechanical oasis. Some of them called their own friends, but others simply wished to 32 ROUTE Magazine

discover strangers across the globe. One man camped out among the Joshua trees for a month and answered five hundred phone calls.

Another old man simply wanted to tell stories from his trucking days. Many of these voyagers even mailed Doc news clippings about a lone structure out in the desert that had become a worldwide sensation.

Unfortunately, this early viral Internet phenomenon was too good to last. Concerned about the dramatic increase in foot traffic and possible disturbances to wildlife, Pacific Bell and the National Park Service discussed tearing it down. In May of 2000, during one of the last phone calls that the booth received, Lorene’s brother chatted with a man in England before going off to work in the cinder mine. When he left his sister’s house the next day, the booth had been razed to the ground.

“It was just attracting too much unwanted attention in terms of litter and detritus, and mementos, and things that were being left onsite,” explained Dave Nichols, park archeologist for Mojave National Preserve. “I think that’s ultimately why Bell was convinced to remove it (the phone booth).”

For a while, people still journeyed out to the concrete slab, proving just how powerful an idea the phone booth had become. One man even constructed a tombstone for the booth, to mourn its untimely passing. However, the Park Service eventually removed the slab, too, and consistently thwarted attempts to add a commemorative plaque.

“Public lands are not there to allow individuals to put whatever they want out there,” added Nichols. “But I understand the sentiment, of course.”

Still, despite the physical absence of the Mojave Phone Booth, its legend would not die. Several filmmakers paid tribute to it, including in a 2006 feature starring Steve Guttenberg, Annabeth Gish and Missy Pyle, appropriately called Mojave Phone Booth. Yet the rings had stopped … until now. On July 31, 2019, a benevolent hacker named Jered Morgan (a.k.a. Lucky225) acquired the original number and set up a system where people can dial it and enter a conference call. You might be fortunate enough to find a stranger on the other end of the line, or you might find yourself talking into the void … except this time, not even the coyotes are listening.

Image courtesy of Mwf95.

A GHOST I N TH E DESERT

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u The Timeless Love of u

W

e live in a time that champions the fast, quick, and immediate. From instant meals and automatic coffee to turbo taxes and express delivery, so much of life revolves around a “get it now” mentality. While we consider most of these accelerated experiences commonplace, there exists an extraordinary few that take the concept of straightaway service and turn it into a one-of-a-kind feature.

A charming example of such a place comes in the form of a tiny but colorful wedding venue laying at the very edge of Oklahoma’s northeastern corner. Operating under the name Lavern’s Wedding Chapel, this lively establishment has made a name for itself by uniting lovers in holy matrimony within the time it takes to order some takeout or watch one half of a football game. That’s right; Lavern’s signature service is tying the knot—paperwork, minister, and all—in under an hour.

This rapid-service chapel sets itself in the homey downtown of Miami, Oklahoma, a friendly community along Route 66 that greets road trippers to the Sooner State as they enter from neighboring Kansas and Missouri. The town lays claim to many historic landmarks, such as the illustrious Coleman Theater, the childhood home of baseball legend Mickey Mantle, and an original segment of the nine-footwide pavement laid for Route 66 in the early 1920’s.

However, Lavern’s Wedding Chapel holds an equally substantial place in Miami’s eclectic history.

Originally opened in 1954

by J.J. Sweatman, the Chapel was one of several lighting-speed wedding venues that sprung up around Oklahoma due to the state’s lack of a waiting period for marriage certificates. This absence means that once a couple submits an application to a courthouse, all they have to do is wait a matter of minutes to be legally wedded. Additionally, during the time period of the Chapel’s construction, the state government incorporated a number of locally elected figures called “justices of the peace,” who acted as lower-level court officers sanctioned to conduct—among other judicial services—civil marriages (aka non-religious). These two factors collided to create a distinctively Okie industry of on-the-spot marriages that boomed throughout the state.

Mr. Sweatman tapped into this trend by constructing his own chapel directly across the street from Miami’s courthouse.

This prime real estate provided direct and easy access for couples eager to get hitched lickety-split, while also creating a convenient pipeline for justices of the peace to make a quick buck; all they had to do was saunter down from the adjacent courthouse and perform a wedding ceremony—or a hundred.

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This ideal business model cemented the Chapel’s staying power, making it one of the only same-day wedding venues in Oklahoma to last throughout the decades.

The state government dissolved the justice of the peace position in the late 1960’s, leaving licensed ministers and judges the only ones permitted to officiate weddings. This prompted Sweatman to hand the Chapel’s reigns over to Lavern Pyle Harris, a longtime employee who was one of the first brides married at the Chapel in 1955. Once assuming ownership in 1973, Harris renamed the establishment after herself and brought in her daughter, Patricia Jones, to help out.

Together, the duo ran Lavern’s for over 40 years, until Harris’s death in 2008. Nowadays, Jones manages Lavern’s herself after promising her mother to continue the Chapel’s legacy after she passed. “I told her that I’d keep it going … I don’t know what else I’d do, really,” remarked Jones laughingly.

What brands Lavern’s as an unparalleled and outstanding establishment stems from the sheer mass of weddings they’ve performed over the years. According to Jones, the cramped and cozy space that can seat no more than 21 people has hosted over 100,000 ceremonies.

That staggering figure is five times the population of Miami and equates to around six weddings per day, every single day since the Chapel first opened its lone white door in 1954.

“We used to have over 200 [weddings] a week. In 1992, on a Valentine’s Day, we had 89 couples.”

Picturing such an overwhelming number of marriages is almost impossible, but within this massive spread are thousands of stories, each containing their own unforgettable moments and eccentric characters. “We had an Elvis impersonator get married [in costume], and one Halloween we had a couple dressed up [as] Frankenstein and his bride,” recalled Jones. Those memories, however, only scratch the surface. “We’ve had a former Ms. Kentucky, boxers, a rodeo hall-of-famer, a baseball player for the [St. Louis] Cardinals, professional clowns all dressed up in clown outfits, we’ve had people bring their racoons and snakes and chimpanzees, three brothers all got married at the same time; [I’ve seen] mothers get married along with their daughters, dads with sons, and twins with twins. All kinds of things.”

The infinite bouquet of couples, families, and friends that have graced Lavern’s intimate setting makes this petite chapel much more than a hasty and cheap fix for legal partnership.

Lavern’s Wedding Chapel is a home; a home of memory, of love, of joy. Its history extends beyond time and is something that all who visit Miami should see for themselves.

Image by David J. Schwartz – Pics On Route 66.

Lavern’s Wedding Chapel

Miami, Oklahoma

The gateway to Oklahoma on Historic Route 66

DELUXE INN Miami, OK

visitmiamiok @miamioktourism @visitmiamioklahoma

ROUTE Magazine 35

HOPS, H AU N TS A N D H I STORY

hrough much of Arizona, I-40 and Route 66 barrel west together through petrified forests and desolate desert terrains, but on the edge of Williams, the roads split. I-40 skirts around the town, and America’s Main Street carries on.

In the second half of the 19th Century, Williams officially thrived on the lumber industry, railroad construction, and the silver mining boom. Locally, the town was known for its rowdy frontier lifestyle, hop dens and bawdy houses. When August Tetzlaff moved to town in 1897, he found his fortune in the town’s livelihood and built an operation that embodied every scandal Williams could offer. The German merchant knew that girls were just as precious as metals, and their profit more reliable than striking silver. With this idea firm in mind, he leased a two story, yellow brick Victorian building to a man named Michael Reneke, who turned it into a boisterous saloon for cowboys and railroaders.

While the bottom floor held the unassuming St. Elmo Bar, the upstairs hid an independently run, eight-crib bordello. A concealed back staircase led cowboys and loggers to the parlor room, where the Madam would watch over her girls as they pulled men away to their cribs.

In 1898, the back of the saloon (two rooms and the yard where Route 66 would later border) was sublet to Chinese immigrants, Fong Chee and Kim Kee, who officially made ends meet with a make-shift barbecue restaurant and unofficially hosted a booming opium den. The turn of the century marked the peak of the bordello’s vibrancy, but the decline was slow and never final. In 1901, a fire razed most of downtown Williams: 2 homes, 10 hotels and 36 business buildings. But the Red Garter’s brick walls proved impenetrable.

During World War I, the War Department ordered the closing of all brothels, and the saloon was shut down due to Prohibition in 1920. However, The Red Garter’s operations didn’t change much when Longino Mora, a man with five ex-wives and twenty-five children, subleted the location in the 1920s to run a bootleg liquor and gambling operation. Not one to shy away from violence, he was perfectly suited for the shady business.

“They had a window out of the back of the restaurant,” current owner John Kennelly explained. “There’s an alley where the opium den and the Chinese chop house is. They would put it in a little window out back and then people could walk down the alley and pick up their booze.”

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When Prohibition ended in 1933, Mora set his sights on other criminal enterprises. He had gambling in back rooms on the first floor and the bordello on the second. This lasted until the 1940s, when local authorities forced the Mora family out. The bordello itself only folded when the famously discrete staircase became the scene of a fatal stabbing in the mid-1940s. The Red Garter then became a company supply store for the Santa Fe Railway but quickly went downhill. At the same time, Route 66 was giving Williams a boost in popularity.

“After World War II, there were a lot of families traveling Route 66 in their motor vehicles and it ran right through Williams,” Kennelly said. “Williams was named Mini Las Vegas for a period of time because so many of the buildings had neon and the signage and stuff like that.”

The Victorian style brothel was both tamed and revitalized by automobile tourism. During Route 66’s heyday, the location functioned briefly as a tavern, a company store for Santa Fe Railway employees, a warehouse for local service stations, and another barbecue joint, though more innocent than the first. Yet, Interstate 40 bypassed Williams in 1984 and the town fell into a state of decline. When John Holst bought the Tetzlaff Building in 1979, it was a boarded-up warehouse with light trickling through the ceiling. He moved in and rehabilitated it. Finally, in 1994, the new ownership restored the deteriorating brothel and opened a boutique hotel and café, where guests often claimed that the inn was as haunted as it is historic.

Despite these tales of hauntings, Kennelly purchased the building from Holst in February 2020, along with adjoining historic properties. The Chinese chophouse and opium den is now the Grand Canyon Wine Company, where visitors can stay in an Airbnb behind the tasting room.

Although the Inn is surrounded by eateries and boutiques now, it has retained its Wild West edge. The names of the four suites upstairs reflect their history. Guests can stay in the Parlor, (where girls waited for their cowboys), Big Bertha’s Room, or the Madam’s Room. The Best Gal’s Room, which girls had to earn in saloon days, offers a view of the Grand Canyon Railway and Ponderosa pine forest. Over the years, modern comforts have been added alongside the traditional sofas and woodstoves.

In a cheeky call to tourists, the Inn champions “over 100 years of personal service”.

Image courtesy of Scottb211.

The Red Garter Inn T

Williams, Arizona has something for everyone.

Plan a visit and see why visitors have fallen in love with Williams.

ROUTE 66

HIKING

RODEOS

WILDLIFE

ExperienceWilliams.com • (928) 635-4061

ROUTE Magazine 37

IN SEARCH Photographs by John Margolies

38 ROUTE Magazine

OF GAS

ROUTE Magazine 39

T

he old filling stations that shine like beacons along Route 66 and similar two-lane highways are as iconic as the classic cars that once zipped between them, filled with families eager to grab a snack, stretch their legs while Dad pumped gas, and admire the quirky, fanciful exteriors of these hubs. In gas stations shaped like redwood trees, rockets, and teepees, myriad connections emerged. Visitors mingled with locals and swapped stories

with other enthusiastic travelers on the road. With the advent of the interstate, many of the quaint, colorful giants fell into disrepair. In this issue, late photographer John Margolies captures the nostalgic charm of these kitschy, cozy stations perfectly in a photographic tribute to roadside America. In the tradition of classic Americana, Margolies’ work echoes an era when people poured into cars with no goal in mind except to discover America.

OPENING SPREAD: Bomber gas station, Milwaukie, OR. 1980.

ABOVE:

ABOVE:

Shell gas station (restoration), Winston-Salem, NC. 2001.

Tee Pee Gas Station Route 40, Lawrence, KS. 1980.

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ABOVE: Milk Depot gas station, Salt Lake City, UT. 1981.

RIGHT: Fire Chief Hat Dog, Barstow, CA. 1979.

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RIGHT: Mammy’s Cupboard, Natchez, MS. 1979.

BELOW: Richfield Gas, Cucamonga, CA. 1978.

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ABOVE: World’s Largest Redwood Tree Service Station (1936), Ukiah, CA. 1991.

LEFT: Teapot Dome gas station, Zillah, WA. 1987.

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ABOVE: Hat & Boots Texaco, Seattle, WA. 1977.

RIGHT: Welcome Travelers gas station, San Antonio, TX. 1982.

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ROUTE Magazine 45

46 ROUTE Magazine

A CONVERSATION WITH

Danny Glover

By Brennen Matthews

Photographs courtesy of Carrie Productions

ROUTE Magazine 47

P

erhaps one of the most recognizable actors of his generation, Danny Glover became a household name in the 1980s with memorable roles in acclaimed films like Places in the Heart and The Color Purple, and a lead in the incredibly successful Lethal Weapon films. However, while lauded for his acting prowess, Glover’s deep-rooted passion for political activism and civil rights is what has defined his trajectory in life. Much can be read about his activism and thespianism online, but in this interview, we step back to meet Danny Glover where he first began his magical journey.

Your mom was from Georgia and your family traveled cross-country from San Francisco numerous times to visit her family. What do you remember about those trips?

You know, it was really the only vacation that we took, traveling across the country. I’ve done it three times. [In] 1954 when I was eight, 1962 when I was sixteen, and 1965 when I was nineteen. And then my girlfriend [and] I traveled in 1969 to see my grandparents. I was at San Francisco State University at the time. But those are some of the most memorable trips. I love driving. Thanks to my parents I love the feeling of getting in the car.

I remember one camping trip to Yosemite with my parents … my mother, she [had] lived in the country, so she wasn’t too excited about it. We rented a cabin. We woke up one morning, and a bear was outside the door. (Laughs) I don’t think that we went on a wilderness trip again. But when you [travel in a], 1954 Oldsmobile, two doors, with six people... (Laughs)

That’s comfy.

You can imagine what that is. Six people.

In 1954, my brother was a year old, so he sat between my mother and father in the front seat. My sister was almost seven, and my brother was six. So, we were sitting in the back seat. Can you imagine, I don’t … the fact that we were even in the car driving. I can remember everything that happened on that trip when I was eight. But the fact that we were just in the car, driving, you know, going somewhere. The impact it had … we were fighting for leg room, fighting for arm room … we were three little kids.

Driving across the country was such a rich experience. I would be the one who would hold the map from the time I was six. I had three maps memorized, almost. I looked forward to it.

That’s interesting that you actually memorized the maps.

This is what would happen with me: before we left on the trip, my dad would pick up this AAA map, right on the corner of Van Ness and Fell, and I got that map as soon as we got in the car. I’d try to memorize it. I couldn’t wait to get on that.

The idea of driving, you know, and I used to have to carry gum with me, Juicy Fruit gum, because I would get car sick.

But the idea of driving never left me. That’s something that went through me as a child.

What was travel like for an African American family back in those days?

We didn’t have any money. We didn’t have that kind of money.

But we would go through Barstow, [California], up through 48 ROUTE Magazine

Albuquerque, New Mexico. We headed east, kind of northeast to Little Rock, Arkansas. The four times that I can remember, I went exactly the same way. The time we went in ’54, ’62, ’65, and when I went when I was in college, and drove with my girlfriend across there in ’69. It was exactly the same way. That’s the only way I knew. And we would do exactly the same thing. We’d fuel up in Little Rock, and we drive all night. And we didn’t stop unless we had to pee. (Laughs)

You’ve been through Barstow and Albuquerque on your cross-country trips. When you were actually traveling, were you aware that you were on historic Route 66?

I can’t remember exactly at that time, I’ll be honest with you, but I covered every inch of that map, and I’m sure I saw Route 66. I know that one of the great singers, certainly that this country has created, was Nat King Cole, and the song that I loved to sing was about Route 66. (Laughs) Oh, yeah!

Do you remember any places that stood out to you?

We were doing 800-900 miles a day. So, by the time we got there, after three-and-a-half days or something … sometimes we slept in the car. We spent at least one night in a hotel, but often two. I remember that. And I was so glad. It was great to get out, I didn’t have to be in the car. The second time we had a station wagon, the last two times. So, I didn’t have to sleep in the bump, that little bump, you know, in the middle where the transmission goes through in the middle of the car. I had to sleep on that. (Laughs) But I remember coming through the Midwest, the flat road, you know, the beauty of traveling through it. I’ve never gone back to trace it. The last time I did was 1969 across the country. But it would be good to kind of trace that.

Did you enjoy driving through the desert portion—the California, Arizona sections?

Every bit of it. There’s such a … I mean, on the one hand, I think there’s something about the desert in a sense, and I’m going to use the word—probably other people have used the word—it’s like a mirage, or something, you know? There’s something about riding through the desert, and the uninterrupted topography, the geography. It goes on and on. It’s soothing.

You were very close to your mom’s parents. They must have been very influential in your life growing up.

My sister and I were the two oldest and had lived with my grandparents on a rural farm in Georgia, when she was just one year old, [and] I was two. That time we went by train. My mother loved her parents. I’ve never been around anybody who adored their parents as much as my mother adored hers.

My mother graduated from college in 1942. Her parents never went past the third grade, but they made a decision that their children were not going to be cotton-pickers. They made sure that they went to school.

My grandparents passed away when I was in my mid-40s, my grandfather in 1991 at 99 years old. My grandmother in 1994 at 99 years old. And they never ceased to be … they never seemed to change to me. They were kind of like, you just wanted to sit in front of them and shut up, don’t say sh*t.

There was something … they were mythical. And even for

me, early at two years old, my own sense of acculturation of sound, smell, and everything else was developed in the large part, not in San Francisco, but there.

So, there’s a reverence for them. I remember when I would go to church, when I was eight years old. Every time I went to church down there; my grandparents used irons … they had a wood stove until the late ‘70s that they cooked on, and I would iron my shirt, and press my shirt, my white, short sleeve shirt. By the time I got out of the house, I was sweating profusely. (Laughs)

What did they think about you becoming Danny Glover the actor?

My grandmother was a midwife, and not just a midwife; if I go down to Louisville and talk to the people who [are] over forty years old, they knew who my grandmother was.

I [went]down with my father and my nephew in 1987. I think it was when The Color Purple had come out. And all of a sudden, I wasn’t just Carrie Mae’s son down there, everybody had seen The Color Purple.

So, my grandmother—imagine this—no moon out, the only light you have is the light from the cars coming and pulling off the road to go to this little farm, to this small brick house.

They would come to the house in groups of four or five, and my grandmother didn’t know what was happening. They’d sit down, they were dressed nicely and everything else. They’d sit for a while and then would say, ‘Where’s Danny at?’ I’d be in the back. My grandmother would holler, ‘Yo boy, Danny come on out here!’(Laughs) Then they’d bring out these little cardboard cameras. They were a little nervous. They would want to take a family picture; she didn’t know what hit her, man. This is someone who was the matriarch of this community; she didn’t know what hit her, ‘Who is this? Is he a famous criminal or something? Who is he?’ She didn’t have any idea.

What a memorable experience.

Now, I had done Places in the Heart, but they didn’t pay much attention to Places in the Heart. I think my grandfather had [seen] Places in the Heart, and the first thing he [said] to me, when I went down there, he said, ‘Boy, what do you know about picking cotton?’, and I said, ‘Grandpa, I tried to help you on the farm but you told me to get out of your way so you could work!’

By the end of the night, my grandmother sat at the counter, watching in the same place. I was sitting on the sofa and she looked up, shaking her head. I said, ‘What’s wrong, Grandma?’ She said, ‘Son, you must be some kind of

important!’ I said, ‘Well, I’ll tell you what, I’ll never be as important as you are.’ She went and told her sister, and everyone started telling her, ‘That’s your grandson in The Color Purple’. So they arranged for her to see [the movie].

What did she think of the film?

They said that she came out hopping mad: ‘I’m gonna get a switch after that boy, he knows he was raised better than to act like that.’ (Laughs) My grandmother was born the same year that Celie was born. When she—the character in the movie that Whoopie Goldberg played—was 14, my grandmother was 14 as well; but my grandmother wouldn’t have put up with none of that sh*t. (Laughs) My mother never saw the film, she passed away before that.

She died in an automobile accident on the way to Georgia to see her momma and daddy. Georgia never went out of my mother’s blood. She was driving with my brother, and three nephews in the back, but nobody else got a scratch—just my mom.

I came and brought everyone else home. I had to go identify the body, and my father was just destroyed.

That must have been incredibly tough.

That was the love of his life, man.

I’m going to say one thing about that wonderful man who was my father: he loved that girl. She was not perfect, but great. She had a vision; she was a strong woman, too. I come from a very matriarchal family.

I’m sure that you had a lot of responsibility being the eldest child.

I did! I think that I was in love with my mom, and at the same time, I was in love with my dad; and they were always trying to do their best. I wish I could have done better in school, when I was younger. My father was the reason we went to college.

There were five of us that lived in San Francisco; no relatives, no uncles, no cousins, no aunts, no nothing. It was a unit, a cohesive family unit. I felt blessed, I felt appreciated. I felt that I was contributing to something.

Did you find coming from San Francisco, and going down into Georgia, the deeper south, to be much of an eye opener? Was there much racial tension?

Of course. There was still that kind of tension, but I particularly remember ’69, ’65 and ’62. I followed the Civil Rights Movement from the Montgomery Bus Boycott in 1955.

I was nine.

I had the good fortune of having a paper route from the time I was like 11, 12, 13, until I was 18 years old. So, every ROUTE Magazine 49

day, I’m reading about the Civil Rights Movement, and my attitude was, I’m going to go down there and do something and change something. (Laughs) Of course, the movement impacted me, all of us, it was live television. The marches were live, you know, they were right there. It was almost like guerilla filmmaking; you know what I’m saying?

You worked pretty steadily during the 1980s, developing as an actor, but it was 1987’s Lethal Weapon film that seemed to really thrust you into the public eye. What was that time like for you? Were you ready for that level of fame and celebrity?

It was kind of a progression, remember, because Places in the Heart was the first major role I had. I went right from there to Silverado … I decided that I was going to be an actor when I was 30, that’s when my career was born. It was 1976. I was in a Broadway show six years later, and I went right from there to Places in the Heart, so there’s this kind of transition.

I was a student activist in my 20s. I finished college, [and] I worked in community development, 1971 through 1977, about six-and-a-half years in community development. I actively worked in the community, in the Mission District, which was primarily Hispanic at the time, and the African American community in the south-central part of San Francisco. I left the city at the end of 1977 [but] I still sustained my commitment to my ideals or ideas around civic engagement; it provided me with a foundation to kind of understand myself, not from the vantage point of what I am as an actor, but in a larger framework. Those are the kind of things that shaped me.

You grew up in the Haight-Ashbury area of San Francisco during a pivotal time; a period when the counterculture movement was in full swing. What was it like being a young man growing up in the epicenter of this iconic movement during the 1960s?

Well first of all, look at the demographics of San Francisco.

I don’t think that San Francisco has ever been more … that African Americans have ever been more than twelve percent of the population, which is the national average. So, when we came here, we moved to the Haight-Ashbury, right at the base of Golden Gate Park; what they call the panhandle, which is where the Haight is. We moved here in 1957. There was white flight into the suburbs, so that whole community, which had been an immigrant community, was a neighborhood in transition. And through that whole transition, a number of homeowners became African American. The community was unique due to the fact of its proximity to Golden Gate Park; you had the largest manmade park in the world as your playground.

San Francisco is geographically not that large, there’s only forty-nine square miles, seven miles one way, seven miles the other way, so it’s easy to get to any part of the city.

So, I watched all of these changes happen. I remember back

in 1963, and the Haight-Ashbury Free Clinic, down on Clayton Street … there was another cultural part of what was happening in San Francisco … There was a traditional black community which they referred to as Harlem West, where you could find all the big bands, the Basie band to the Ellington band and all the big bands. They played out at the Booker T. Washington Hotel, which had been a part of the Fillmore, the traditional black community, and that community settled way long before. So, all these things, when I’m looking at things, the things that I did, where I went to church, even at that time when we lived on the other side of the city before we bought a house, we’d come out to the Fillmore area, where we went to church or to the hospital. I saw black people who had businesses, and black people who had—you walk down Fillmore Street, and I’m sure there are plenty of pictures of it; and they had come there, and stayed, like my mother and father. My father was discharged from the Army in 1945, after he married my mother in New York, and he was transferred to Los Angeles and transferred here. They made a decision right away, after he was discharged from the Army, they were going to stay in San Francisco.

I’m giving you a sense of what this looked like with me coming up, you know? We would always go to the Auditorium. I saw the Motown Revue in 1962; James Brown was always there; Bobby Blue Bland was always there; B.B. King was always there; this was where people had a place to listen to music, and jazz music was always there.

San Francisco was politicized because of the working-class people in an industrialized city; you had the great strike of 1964 where arguably one of the great leaders of American labor, Harry Bridges, led that strike that shut down the ports of longshoremen all the way up from Spokane, Washington, all the way down to San Pedro; so, you had all of this really iconic history in the city in terms of labor, and in terms of liberalism, and everything else.

All of these dynamics were part of a city that had its own cultural identity. You had the Italian influence; you had a Hispanic influence. I mean, here come Jack London and other writers, the Beat Generation that came through here in the ‘50s, and everything else.

So, I’m walking, I’m coming from my paper route in 1963— this is a prelude to the Summer of Loving—and maybe I’m collecting at night. I may stop at a coffeehouse and listen to someone play a folk song or read poetry, so the access to those kind of cultural influences certainly gave me another sense of myself, plus, you had other places. I remember Carlos Santana, because he was a year younger than me, when he was in high school, so we had this mixture of music and culture that was always happening here.

You could go to Golden Gate Park; you could go to the Kezar Stadium and listen to the Grateful Dead, Boz Scaggs, Janis Joplin, even Bob Dylan. I was telling someone that one of my theme songs when I was eighteen was “[Mr.] Tambourine Man.” It was a great song!

Check out Danny in multiple films hitting screens in 2020 and 2021.

I know that one of the great singers, certainly that this country has created, was Nat King Cole, and the song that I loved to sing was about Route 66.

50 ROUTE Magazine

ROUTE Magazine 51

or centuries, glowing beacons towered over coastlines and signaled safe passage for sailors traversing waters around the world. These lighthouses, despite their waning service in today’s society, still maintain a cultural mystique. They serve as symbols of hope, refuge, and promise. From the tantalizing green light in The Great Gatsby to the Oscar nominated film The Lighthouse, the imagery of lighthouses continues to permeate the American imagination.

Now, hundreds of miles away from any American coast, a town twenty minutes outside of Tulsa has constructed their very own landlocked lighthouse—in the form of a giant, vintage gas pump. As of 2018, Sapulpa, Oklahoma, is home to this record-holding structure that soars sixty-six feet above the sea-like immensity of the high plains. This specific measurement mirrors the pump’s location along another romantic figure in the American mythos: Route 66. Heralded as the “World’s Tallest Gas Pump,” this monument weaves a new thread into the kitschy tapestry of the highway’s celebrated attractions. The structure also beckons passing road-trippers to visit the establishment responsible for its inception, the Heart of Route 66 Auto Museum.

“We decided that we wanted some kind of iconic sign,” said Richard Holmes, co-founder and president of the vintage car and Americana focused museum.

“Our marketing people said, ‘How about a large gear shift,’ and I thought, Well, I don’t know about that, so I came up with the idea of an antique, visible gas pump.”

Holmes’ proposal was well-received, the only problem was that there were no available designs for a 66-foot tall gas pump. In order to conceive such plans, the Museum went on to recruit a myriad of local engineers, designers, and electricians.

The unorthodox demands of supersized memorabilia construction resulted in a dragged-out process, prompting enthusiasm to fester. “There (were) so many questions: ‘Is this ever going to be done?’, ‘Are we ever going to see it completed?’ Everybody was so excited about the idea,” said Holmes. After two years of countless design meetings, revised renderings, and manufacturing adjustments, the Museum finally unveiled the finished product in 2017.

Sapulpa is a tiny but historical town, patterned with classic brick buildings birthed from the oil and railroad booms.

Bennett Steel and American Heritage Bank, companies forged from the heat of the community’s past, raised substantial funds, donated resources, and invested hundreds of hours to help Sapulpa’s latest piece of history reach its final state.

The eclectic array of building materials included a relic from 52 ROUTE Magazine

the town’s industrial legacy: a two-hundred-foot-long, twohundred-fifty-pound hose, which, according to Holmes was “an actual hose used in the oil industry.” A testament to the structure’s cultural authenticity and proportional accuracy, the hose dangles seamlessly around the body of the pump, fastened by a custom-made steel nozzle.

The time and supplies contributed seem to have been well worth it for the community. “I often hear people say that this is really a great thing for Sapulpa,” exclaimed Holmes. The attraction’s popularity created a positive surge that rippled through the area and beyond, drawing more sightseers to the Museum and friendly town. “We’ve had people from 94 countries and all 50 states that have visited,” stated Holmes.

“We’ve had visitors from (as far as) Japan saying it’s part of their must-see information.” This success marks a landmark achievement for the still young Museum.

In 2015, the Museum team spent a year reinventing a decommissioned National Guard armory into the now essential Route 66 stop, which brims with antique automobiles and vast displays of rare collectables from the golden age of the Mother Road.

In addition to bringing in thousands of museumgoers from all corners of the globe, the gas pump phenom won an award for “Best New Attraction in the State” from the Oklahoma Travel Industry Association. Having an award-winning feature not only put Sapulpa on the map, but also helped reanimate the excitement around the original Historic Route 66 path in Oklahoma. Prior to initiatives like the Museum’s, “people would go down interstate 44 and just bypass Tulsa and Sapulpa,” said Holmes. “But now, as more things are developing and occurring in the area, people have more of a reason to stop.” It’s safe to say that the gargantuan gas pump has played a starring role in this renaissance.

The colossal accomplishment stands on a knoll outside the Museum. It leans at a slight angle towards the storied road it overlooks—as if saluting those on their pilgrimage west. The gas pump brandishes brilliantly red paneling, which gleams with a nostalgic radiance. Its brassy features conjure up sensations of Coca-Cola fizz, Corvette hums, and jukebox tunes. At night, streaks cast upward by well-lights paint the structure in a warm fluorescence, creating a vivid illumination against the dark.

The town of Sapulpa built a lighthouse in the ocean of America’s heartland. With its beaming presence, this massive entity embodies all the optimism, hope, and community embedded in the poetry of Route 66. To any who take the journey along this fabled path, rest assured beacons like the World’s Tallest Gas Pump will guide your way.

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Image courtesy of Efren Lopez/Route66Images.

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A LIGHTHOUSE ON ROUTE 66

ROUTE Magazine 53

Sunday 54 ROUTE Magazine

at Sid’s

By Heide Brandes

Photographs by James Livingston ROUTE Magazine 55

M

arty Hall figures he’s flipped five million burgers in his life. He’s made a living out of grilling thin ribbons of sweet Spanish onions before squishing a patty of pure ground beef into them.

He has even designed his own spatula made from a masonry trowel. He’s lost a wife because of flipping burgers but gained another one because of it. His own three children were born into the smell of onion burgers and have diner blood running through their veins. Hall has been in a ton of magazines and on numerous television shows because of burgers, and he’s written an autobiography about his life with burgers. He is serious about burgers.

Yet, the story of the Oklahoma onion burger really isn’t about Hall at all. It’s about El Reno, a Route 66 town on the western outskirts of Oklahoma City, and how a “cheap” burger became world-famous thanks to Depression-era ingenuity. But Hall is also the El Reno onion burger. His whole life has centered around it. As the Burger Boy of Route 66, Hall is as much a part of the history of Oklahoma’s famous burger as the man who started it.

The Burger that Wowed the World “At last census, El Reno had about 16,000 population, but we now estimate that we have 19,020,” said Shana Ford, Director of the El Reno Main Street Program. “El Reno has so much potential and so much history. You had the Land Run, Fort Reno ... Our downtown is truly a downtown. It feels like you’re in Mayberry.”

El Reno popped up in the 1860s along the Chisholm Trail, a famous cattle drive that ran from Texas into Kansas.

Fort Reno was built along the route to address the Native American uprisings after the Trail of Tears displaced millions of Native Americans to “Indian Territory.”

The Oklahoma Land Run of 1889 included all or part of Canadian, Cleveland, Kingfisher, Logan, Oklahoma, and Payne counties, and at high noon on April 22, 1889, an

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estimated 50,000 people lined up near present-day El Reno to claim their piece of the available two million acres.

In 1926, Route 66 was created, and El Reno was directly along the path. With the popularity of the Mother Road, little shops, motels and restaurants popped up along the way, becoming favored stops.

Legend has it that a man named Ross Davis ran the Hamburger Inn in El Reno during the Great Depression, and like everywhere, meat was expensive. Positioned perfectly at U.S. 81 and Route 66, the Hamburger Inn was already a popular stop for travelers along the Mother Road, but costs were always a concern.

However, Davis was a smart businessman. Hamburger meat may have been expensive, but onions were cheap. He fried up sliced onions and smashed them into meat patties with a spatula, beefing up the burger (so to speak) with the onions, to stretch his burgers a little further. He called them “Depression Burgers,” and people loved them.

“Everything was rationed back then,” said Ford. “The onions just add flavor and it was one of those things that when something catches on, everyone has to try it. [Other places have] onion burgers, but it’s just not the same.”

Soon, other restaurants in El Reno served up their own versions of the “Depression Burger,” and word spread. To this day, people from all over the world have heard of the Oklahoma onion burger, thanks to the humble “Depression Burger.” The El Reno fried onion burger was officially a star.

On the Road to Five Million Burgers When Marty Hall sits down at one of the old Formica tables at Sid’s Diner in El Reno, he starts out simply enough.

“My name’s Marty Hall. I have a diner on Route 66, and I’ve cooked over five million hamburgers. I’ve been doing this for 51 years,” he said. “I’ve flipped burgers at three different places. I started at a little burger place two blocks from here washing dishes for 50 cents an hour.”

Around him, the smell of sizzling burgers fills the air in the cramped little diner. Sid’s Diner is far from fancy. It has that blue-collar feel, looks in need of a facelift and has a patina of vintage furnishings that gives diners a first-row seat to the magic on the grill. Yet there is something oddly magical about the atmosphere.

Hall’s son Adam, and his fiancé, man the flat grill, alternating onions and meat patties on the heat. They flop buns onto the grill for a quick sear and then onto the burger for steaming. They move so fast, it’s hard to watch.

A disheveled man lumbers out the front door with his head down, dodging the gaggle of old women who look as if they just had their hair done. The man is homeless, but Hall feeds him every day because he “is trying hard.”

Hall is an original to El Reno, but he still regrets not being born on Route

66. He was actually born on May 8, 1954, in Midwest City at Tinker Air Force Base to Sid and Juanita (Nita) Della Hall.

“My Dad fought in the Korean War. My mom was two months pregnant with me when Dad left for Korea. Her sisters told me it was really hard for her to see Dad leave.”

Since his father was military, Hall’s mother had access to a military hospital. But when the time came, getting to that hospital wasn’t easy. “My mom was raised on a ranch (nearby) and my dad was raised in Binger, Oklahoma. They met at the Hinton Skating Rink,” Hall said. “So, do you know how guys show off to get a girl’s attention? We do stupid stuff. He started skating backward with his hands in his pockets, acting real cool. Anyway, he falls down and everything in his pockets came flying out. They were married about a year later and dad was drafted into the Army.”

Juanita lived with her parents at the ranch while Sid was deployed. On May 7, she went into labor during one of Oklahoma’s famous spring storms.

“My grandparents put my mom on the back seat of the ‘48 Chevy and headed to Tinker Air Force Base down Route 66, but they got caught in the storm. It was a bad one,” Hall said. “They had to pull off to the side of the road because of all the wind and rain and hail. They made it and I was born at about 8 o’clock in the morning. So that’s my first inkling of Route 66.”

Hall was eight months old when his father returned home from the Korean War. After a year or so in El Reno, Hall’s father was offered a supervisor’s job at Folgers Coffee in Houston, and the family moved.

“We were there for 13 years. My Dad taught me how to pitch, and I played ball, and we kind of lived on the outskirts near the woods, and I loved it. They shut down that Folgers coffee plant and Mom and Dad moved back up here when I was 13. That’s when I got a job washing dishes at a little burger place called Johnnie’s. The first thing the owner Otis Bruce had me do was peel onions. I had never peeled onions in my life.”

Hall worked at Johnnie’s Grill until he was 19, when he started working at Bonaparte’s Drive-In as the manager, but his heart was still at Johnnie’s. After just a few months, he asked for his old job back.

“I went to work one morning, and Otis was talking to me about a little drive-in not too far down from Johnnie’s on Route 66 called the Dairy Hut,” Hall said. “Otis went and spoke to them about me buying their business.”

Hall was just 21 years old, and in 1975, he thought getting a bank loan would be easy.

“My dad told me that [since] I’ve always paid my bills on time, that the bank would pretty much give [me] a loan if they knew [I would] pay it back,” Hall said. “The owners were asking $12,000 for it, but they said if I could come up with $3000, they would let me have it and pay the rest off.

I went up there to the bank and they wouldn’t give me the loan. I called Dad, and he took me to this other bank and co-signed a note for me.”

At the Dairy Hut, Hall cooked the famous El Reno fried onion burger with fresh-cut fries and ice-cream. He owned the Dairy Hut for 13 years, personally flipping burgers every day.

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Hall’s father worked as a highway foreman when the family moved back to El Reno, and Hall hoped his father would help him in his little restaurant when his father retired.

Sid Hall had a plan to retire at age 57. A heart attack ended that dream and took his life.

“If dad hadn’t signed that note for me, I don’t know where I would be today. I never heard my dad say a cuss word. I never saw a beer to his lips. Before he died, I said, ‘Dad, when you retire, you want to help me with the Dairy Hut?’ He and Mom would come out there and help me some,” Hall said. “I had been married before, but my wife didn’t want to be married to a burger flipper. I had three daughters—one daughter and then twin daughters with her. I think she just didn’t think I’d amount to anything.”

On one cold winter afternoon in 1980, Hall was driving through downtown El Reno when he saw a woman walking down the street. He thought to himself, “Now that’s a pretty woman.” He asked her on a date, tried to kiss her on the first date, and thought he blew it.

She showed up the next day at the Dairy Hut for lunch and a few months later they were married.

“Her name is Carolyn, and we’ve been married for over 40 years.”

But it was a message from The Lord that led Hall to open Sid’s Diner.

A Message and a Future “I am a born-again Christian. About 30 years ago, I pull up here to this corner right here on Route 66 and Highway 81 that had sat empty for nearly 10 years. It was always an ugly corner,” Hall said. “Anyway, the Lord spoke to my heart, and he said, ‘Son, that’s your corner if you want it.’ The next day I pull up there and there it is again, ‘Son, that’s your corner if you want it.”

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Every day for a week, Hall got the same message every time he pulled up to the corner. He fluffed it off at first and then decided to offer the owner $11,000 for the lot.

“The owner lived in Norman and I asked if he was interested in selling that corner and how much? He said $20,000 and I said, ‘I’ll give you $11,000.’ He puts his hand over the phone and I hear him talking to his wife. The wife said, ‘Let it go.’ To make a long story short, that was 30 years ago in 1989.”

Hall built Sid’s Diner (named after his father) on that corner himself with the help of some friends.

“It was an instant success. I grew up here and the townspeople knew me. When I opened the door, it was a boom. And it’s been booming ever since. It’s amazing.”

Hall, his wife and his children were all part of the diner.

Hall’s first three daughters Charise, Sonja and Christa were joined by their little brother Adam in 1982, and all three have worked at Sid’s Diner. Charise works as a paralegal in Oklahoma City, but Christa now owns a Sid’s Diner in Minco, Oklahoma, while Sonja owns Marty’s Diner near Searcy, Arkansas. Now at 37, Adam is poised to take over Sid’s Diner in El Reno from his father.

“I remember getting paid a quarter per five-gallon bucket of potatoes. We used to peel our potatoes,” said Adam.

“Working here as a kid always kept me busy and out of trouble. I’m working on my twenty-fifth year here.”

As lunch rolled around, Sid’s Diner began to fill. With a seating capacity of just over 35, the restaurant is undeniably snug, but remains popular with locals and visitors alike. The walls are decorated with the photos of local servicemen, and the numerous publications Sid’s has been featured in, line the opposite wall.

“We created our own spatula. Did Dad tell you that?”

Adam asked. “My dad’s father’s name is on the building, and we’re representing it every day. Every day, we come in here and cook up the best burgers we can.”

Hall still comes to his diner every day, even though his son has taken the reins. He chats up the regulars who sip the strong coffee and eat grill-scrambled eggs for breakfast, and he prepares for the big lunch and dinner rush when the crowds cry for onion burgers or coneys with chili and slaw.

Although El Reno was born out of a lonely frontier fort in the middle of Indian Territory, was cemented by a land grab that made Oklahoma a state, and survived through the luck of having one of the world’s most famous highways run through its heart, the little homegrown diner serving up “Depression Burgers” really put the town on the map.

“I guess I’ll keep flipping burgers until I’m too tired to anymore,” Hall said. “I’m the Burger Boy of Route 66.”

In 1889 a shot rang out.

A land run started.

And El Reno, Oklahoma would become the front door to the American West.

Photo courtesy of Canadian County Museum.

Historic El Reno, Oklahoma, where the glamour of Route 66 meets the Old West drama of the Chisholm Trail. Where the world’s largest fried onion hamburger is celebrated, and where you can ride a rail-based trolley through historic downtown. Nearby Fort Reno is home to the colorful U.S. Cavalry Museum, as well as the graves of Buffalo Soldiers, Indian scouts and World War II prisoners of war. For information, visit www.elrenotourism.com.

ROUTE Magazine 59

RELIGHTIN

By Alex J. Rodriguez Photographs by David J. Schwartz - Pics On Route 66

60 ROUTE Magazine

G HISTORY

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R

oute 66 basks in the brightness of summertime; it savors the brilliance cast by summer sunshine that washes its historic pavement in an almost holy radiance. Within its elongated days, summer offers road trippers extended light, intensified warmth, and a deepened desire to experience a world outside the generic drone of everyday life. Travelers feel compelled to hop on America’s Main Street, to embrace the thrill of the open road, to search for adventure and an experience that will live long in their memories.

The old road is blessed with countless towns that define the magic that we are all seeking, but destinations like Missouri’s Civil War town of Carthage may best represent the ideal theater to soak in Route 66. The town is home to the quirky attraction of Red Oak II, their very own drive-in theater, and is packed with fascinating history and culture.

There is even a terrific square, packed with fun shops and a historic courthouse that is simply astounding. But perhaps the centerpiece of the little town is an unassuming venue that is still drawing in visitors, 80 years after it first opened: Boots Court Motel.

With its hallmark Streamline Moderne architecture, this historic lodging site not only offers plenty of sincere hospitality, but also serves as Carthage’s testament to the Mother Road. Moreover, Boots acts as a beacon, a flare brightening the town’s nights with a serene florescence. Its beauty transports observers to the look, sound, and feel of a time when cars were painted pastel, music blared solely through the radio, and the closest thing to a TV was the rolling scenery beyond the frame of a rolled-up window.

However, the longstanding presence of Boots Court wouldn’t be possible without the passionate effort of three women. The story of Boots is also theirs. It is a story of two sisters and their dearest childhood friend who, after decades of separation, were brought back together by chance, circumstance, and a united desire to restore something meaningful. Their names are Deborah “Debye” Harvey, Priscilla “Pixie” Bledsaw, and Deborah “Debbie Dee” Real.

They are the ones who brought Boots back to life; they are the mothers of Boots Court Motel.

Laying the Groundwork The namesake of Boots Court originated years before these women were even born. It was derived from Mr. Arthur Boots, who constructed the establishment in 1938 and opened it for business a year later. According to the accounts of his son, the late Bob Boots, Arthur’s nature was that of a meticulous and cunning entrepreneur. Bob recalled in interviews with the aforementioned Debye Harvey that his father, a former farm machinery salesman, spent his days in Kansas City chewing over maps, surveying and scrutinizing numerous locations to find the ideal venue for a new 62 ROUTE Magazine

business venture to accommodate the millions of displaced Americans roaming the country as a result of the Great Depression.

Route 66 played a pivotal role during this period, providing a system of mobility and migration to those looking for a fresh start.

Arthur Boots saw an opportunity lying within the promise of the Mother Road, which lead him to choose a small stretch of road located in Carthage, Missouri, where U.S. Route 66 and U.S. Route 71 briefly converged. Boots referred to this specific point as “The Crossroads of America” and considered it the perfect spot to erect a motor court for weary nomads combing the plains for any sort of work—or shelter.

The original blueprints, all conceived by Boots himself, featured trendy characteristics of Streamline Moderne, a style of architecture that emerged during the latter years of Art Deco’s heyday in the 1930s.

Streamline Moderne took the extravagant qualities of Deco and applied them to a simpler, more “streamlined” appearance.

It is often associated with the sleek, bullet-like physique of an old-school sports car, or a funky roadside diner, or an illustrious, bronzed movie theater straight out of Hollywood’s Golden Age. However, despite having rapid success and doubling its capacity to a total of eight rooms, Arthur Boots spent a mere three years running his business before a divorce and an entrepreneurial itch propelled him to move on. “Arthur Boots was a free spirit, and he didn’t take well to staying in one place,” explained Debye Harvey. “He liked to build things, but then he liked to move on and build something else. He was only the owner of the Boots from ’39 to ’42.”

After Arthur’s departure, Boots Court entered a perpetual state of change, bouncing around from owner to owner, each of whom remodeled the Court to their individual liking. As the decades piled on and the proprietors revolved in and out, so did the structural changes, obscuring the motel’s architectural heritage and dulling the sheen of its classic charm. Eventually, during the early 2000s, possession of the property fell into the hands of a real estate investor whose aim for the iconic landmark involved demolishing its two huddled buildings and selling it to a drugstore chain.

Luckily, due to some corporate complications, the plan never materialized, forcing the investor to declare bankruptcy and leading the bank to repossess the property. For a number of years, Boots Court Motel stood in limbo, growing decrepit as the wear and tear of neglect lagged on—that is until two sisters decided to take a trip down Route 66.

Priscilla, Debbie Dee and Debye standing on Route 66.

A Tale of Three Women The deep-rooted relationship that Debye Harvey and Pixie Bledsaw share with their beloved friend, Debbie Dee, burrows all the way back to their childhood in the early 1950s when they all lived on the same block in the small town of Quincy, Illinois. “They lived next door to me in a lovely part of town on Jersey Street,” reminisced Debbie Dee. “It was a lovely place to grow up—full of kids and trees. We met when they moved in and we were very little. We became friends and spent a lot of time together and had a lot of fun [playing] games and all kinds of things.”

Right away the three bonded over their youthful energy and a mutual love for plants and animals, which, ironically enough, influenced Debye and Pixie’s family to move away from Quincy when the girls were in junior high. “We moved out into the country because my mom wanted a pony,” laughed Pixie. “My mom was an animal lover and Debbie Dee was an animal lover, so she encouraged our friendship. That was probably why we ended up staying friends with her, even after we moved away.”

The sisters ended up relocating to Decatur, Illinois, where they spent their young adult years together before Debye

moved down to Georgia during the early 80s to pursue a career in mechanical drafting. Meanwhile, Debbie Dee managed to sustain her relationship with the sisters for a number of years until she set off for South America in 1978.

“I went out to visit quite a bit, and we had adventures out there—just a jolly good time,” she recalled. “Then years passed; I moved up to Chicago for a while, married a man from Venezuela, then went down to Venezuela where I lived for quite a few years. I loved it. I was in the water as much as possible. If you didn’t like water sports [there], you were S.O.L.” Pixie stayed in Quincy, where she entered the jewelry industry, inevitably opening a business of her own during the early aughts. “It was just a natural attraction to things that sparkle,” she chuckled. “When I was growing up, it wasn’t easy to get things with sequins on them. I was in dance for eight years before I got a tutu, and that was the only reason I wanted to get into dance—to get that tutu.”

While down in the Peach State, Debye worked for a contracting firm that landed some business with the National Parks Service. “We got the job to do a condition assessment on a building that the Parks Service wanted to convert [into] ROUTE Magazine 63

Priscilla and Debye. Nights are quiet in Carthage, Missouri.

a historic site. The project also included [writing] a history of the complex, so I said, ‘I’ll do it.’ I gathered together all this information, wrote that article, and the Park Service accepted it,” she mused. “We got another project of a similar type, and I just kept doing the work until one of the Park Service guys [asked], ‘Where did you get your degree in History?’ I said, ‘I don’t have a degree in History!’ and he said, ‘Well, we require that our historians have a degree in History.’ So, I went back to college, [and] ended up with a master’s in Historic Preservation and a bachelor’s degree in History.”

Through this winding journey, Debye unraveled a calling that intertwined her love of history with her curiosity about the innerworkings of buildings. “I want to know how things got to be the way they are,” she mentioned matter-of-factly.

Unbeknownst to her, this appetite for preservation and engineering would ultimately persuade Debye to purchase a rundown motel in the middle of America’s Heartland.

How Did We Get Here?

In June of 2006, Debye and Pixie carried out their longtime wish to experience America’s Main Street together. “It was a mindboggling trip,” Pixie exclaimed. “There was so much to see and do that it took us three days to get to Pontiac, Illinois, from Chicago. We decided that we better step up the pace or we were going to use up our three weeks and not even get out of Illinois. Heck, we lived in Illinois! We 64 ROUTE Magazine

could’ve started in Missouri! But we did Route 66 and just loved it.”

Along the way, the pair found themselves in Carthage staring at the dilapidated facade of Boots Court Motel, which had caught their eye because of its signature Streamline Moderne design. “This particular style of building was something I always liked. They always looked like giant blocks of ice cream,” said Pixie. While attracted to the structure’s architecture, at no point during their encounter did it occur to the sisters that this establishment was something worth pursuing—commercially or otherwise.

“It really looked like the wrath of God when we first saw it,” Pixie lamented. “[We noticed] how sad it was that something this neat looking was being neglected beyond, what we thought at the time, the point of no return.”

Years later, in 2011, a life changing opportunity presented itself and changed the sisters’ perspective. “I saw that Boots was about to be auctioned off by the bank that owned it,” explained Debye. “This was just by chance. Because of my career, I have the Preservation Magazine from the National Trust, and there was this tiny little article in there that talked about it. I thought that was interesting, so I contacted my sister. [She] was very excited about buying it. I’d retired by then and thought it’d be fun to take this building and return it back to the way it looked in the 1940s. [I thought], I’ll restore it and open it up again as a motel for Route 66 travelers. In life, if you only see one door, that’s the one you take.”

Debye made a commitment there and then, throwing herself and her retirement into purchasing Boots Court with her sister. They carried a determination to reanimate the glory days of this historic motel as vividly and authentically as possible. Utilizing her historic preservation expertise in tandem with her engineering wherewithal, Debye began to reevaluate the structural integrity of the motel, assessing what measures needed to be added in order to bring its appliances into the 21st Century, while also poring over stacks of historic documents and conducting hours upon hours of interviews.

“I looked at the Boots and [realized] its problems were cosmetic,” she elaborated.

“There was plaster falling off of everywhere; the neon was all broken and falling off, and the electricity was old and needed to be upgraded to meet code. So yes, there was a lot of expensive work that needed to be done, but [we] didn’t have to rebuild the building in order to restore it—to plaster and paint, get rid of all the excess foliage, and repair the windows—that kind of thing.”

Little by little, week by week, removal and addition after removal and addition, Boots Court Motel began to regain the subtle magnificence of its prime. The now seven operational rooms (one of which is the exact same room Clark Gable stayed in 80 years ago) each adhere to the historically accurate guidelines that Debye defined through her research: hardwood floors, chrome light fixtures, chenille bedspreads, built-in dressers, and an antique radio tuned to a station playing only ‘40s hits.

However, even with all the detail paid to restoring its interiors, Boots’ external architecture needed some drastic changes, too. “The main building had an inappropriate roof that got put on it during the ‘70s, and it just killed it,” exclaimed Debbie Dee. “It didn’t look like Streamline Moderne with that roof up there, so we were able to get a grant from the National Park Service to get the roof restored to the original roof, so you could see the beautiful lines of the building.”

“The second thing we did was our upgrading of the green architectural neon,” added Debye. “Some of the neon that was on there when we bought it still worked, but our architectural guy said that it was not in good shape and our best bet was to reproduce it, and we did. He actually restored it to the historic green color [using] the original materials. Now we have the original green color.”

Over the course of five years, these much-needed rejuvenations took place. After countless hours of sweat and labor poured into this rehabilitation, Boots Court Motel had finally reached the point where it could reclaim its status as Carthage’s shining jewel on Garrison and Central. Yet, in the midst of all this restoration, Debye and Pixie actually needed to run the place.

After all, it was supposed to be a fully operational motel.

Reuniting for Boots Court Out of necessity and circumstance, the sisters required an onthe-ground operative to make sure that the venue functioned

properly and professionally. “We had no idea about what it took to run a motel—I mean absolutely none,” joked Pixie.

“When we purchased Boots, my sister was living in Georgia, and I was living in Illinois, [but] Debbie Dee was sort of in between jobs, so we said, ‘Do we have a deal for you!’ We’d known her all our lives; we knew the kind of person she was.

She [was] ideal because she just thinks everybody’s life is the most fascinating thing she’s ever heard. That’s kind of what people on Route 66 really like, because they want to talk about their experiences and what they’ve seen.”

“I was kind of at loose ends,” added Debbie Dee. “I hadn’t decided what to do or what I wanted to do, or where I wanted to go, but then I got a call out of the blue from the girls saying ‘How would you like to go down to Missouri and take a look at this property we just bought?’ When I went down there, [I] walked up to this beautiful Streamline Moderne building, and just fell in love with it. I thought it was irresistible. So, I gave it a little thought and [decided] I could do this.”

Despite her complete enthusiasm, Debbie Dee still had to bear the weight of being the sole on-site employee. “The first couple of years took quite a lot of time and energy—usually 16-hour days,” she admitted. “You’d get up in the morning to see all of your guests off, and then you turn back and clean as fast as you could. Then three o’clock is when our doors open for guests again, so at three o’clock I had to get back to the office and start taking care of guests again. It was still a lot of fun.”

Much of the joy and fulfillment Debbie Dee gets from her job stems from the opportunities she has to genuinely connect with each guest. “There are some definite perks to this business.

Just meeting people from around the world is a wonderful experience,” she expounded. “People who are traveling Route 66 tend to be a little bit outside the box. They tend to be intelligent and all of them have that spirt of adventure. People who have written books about the Route—or are artists or biographers on the Route—have all stopped here and shared their wealth of experience, history, and knowledge. We even had guests from a research station down in Antarctica! It’s such a thrill to meet people from everywhere.”

Without Debbie Dee’s pure kindness and intrigue towards her guests, the 24/7 management lifestyle might have led to a serious case of burnout. Yet even after all the years of long, strenuous days, the appreciation and compassion she radiates hasn’t faded one bit, just like the neon that illuminates Carthage’s nights.

A Retirement Well Spent Sitting on the front porch of her home that sits just down the street from Boots Court, Debye can still see the neon come to life as the sun sets. “It’s almost an emotional experience because it’s so gorgeous,” she ruminated. “It just makes me happy to have that neon come on. We have put a lot of time, effort, thought, and money into the motel, and we like looking at it and thinking, We did that. And boy, did we do a good job.”

To picture Boots Court Motel is to picture the enchanting ambiance of summertime. During the day, its white walls reflect the light beaming down from above, making it glimmer and blend into the rays of sunshine. At night, its emerald glow coats the darkness in a calm incandescence. When you hear the story of Boots Court and the three lifelong friends who revived it, it’s hard not to see that same light emanating from the warm smiles that these remarkable women wear on their faces every single day.

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N

estled up against Interstate 15 is Baker, California, a town with an elevation greater than its population. To be fair, it’s a rather close race considering the 2018 estimate hovers around 800 citizens while its elevation has (of course) stayed at 942 feet. This microscopic number may have something to do with the fact that Baker sits right in the magma heart of the Mojave Desert. While this desolate locale might not scream, “I am your next day trip!”, it still manages to consistently reel in a remarkable number of tourists each and every year. For a place whose most famous neighborhood goes by the name “Death Valley”, this is quite an accomplishment.

With that said, the Mojave Desert has earned many titles like “The driest desert in North America”, and “The only place on Earth to reach an air temperature of 134 degrees Fahrenheit.” Moreover, in spite of its barren geography, the Mojave lays claim to quite a gnarly collection of critters such as Mountain Lions, Gila Monsters, and what are affectionately referred to as Giant Hairy Scorpions. And like most corners of this seemingly empty area, tiny Baker is full of surprises, none of which are more famous or more random than its small, but rather tall, piece of the Golden State’s history.

In 1991, Willis Herron—one of the select few who can call themselves a Baker native— invested $75,000 on a 25-yearlong dream to build a gargantuan thermometer. His inspiration stemmed from a deep yearning to bring a roadside attraction to his bite-sized community and a desire to commemorate his homeland’s longstanding history of record-breaking temperatures.

Over a century ago, in 1913, the Mojave Desert accomplished the aforementioned feat of highest temperature ever recorded. Almost 80 years later, the desert became home to yet another record after Herron constructed “The World’s Tallest Thermometer”. Standing at exactly 134-feet tall to mirror that infamous temperature, this larger than life installation gifted Baker an attraction that would go on to compel thousands of curious motorists to stop by for more than just gas.

However, the thermometer encountered a number of growing pains during its first years of unprecedented existence, the most damaging of which occurred when the thermometer split in half due to a weak foundation that

couldn’t withstand the Mojave’s severe wind speeds. This setback was eventually overcome after the construction company, Young Electric Sign Co., secured the massive pole with 125 cubic yards of concrete.

In 2003, Herron made the hard-hitting decision to sell his brainchild to Larry Dabour, who again sold it to Matt Pike a couple of years later. Pike ultimately closed the famous but cumbersome attraction down in 2012 because of its nagging malfunctions and high monthly costs. Yet, in an act that brought this wild ride full circle, Pike sold the attraction back to the family of its creator, the late Willis Herron, whose tombstone actually features a rendering of the thermometer.

Under the supervision of his family, Herron’s famous thermometer was once again operational in July of 2014.

Radiating with the glow of over 5,000 LED bulbs, The World’s Tallest Thermometer sports a refurbished look with a bold new paint job, updated technology, and a pleasant picnic area where tourists can bask in the shaded awe of this striking edifice. The Thermometer now also operates as a full-blown business, complete with a gift shop where you can purchase everything from a refreshing frozen treat to an original light bulb from the 1991 construction, which includes an authentic signature from Willis Herron himself. That means that for the low price of 30 bucks, you too can own a piece of one of the most bizarre monuments in American history! Additionally, a portion of the Thermometer’s vestibule is designated as a sort of museum that highlights old artifacts, photographs, and even an old school circuit board that recorded the daily temperature throughout the 20th Century.

Since it’s not an actual, functioning thermometer, the attraction itself serves more as a sign—a beacon for people to visit Baker and uncover the truly rare finds along its handful of dusty streets. The engaging presence of this attraction has led many to discover that this one-horse town holds a number of worthwhile attractions like the Mad Greek Cafe, a kitschy spot for mouthwatering Gyros, Alien Fresh Jerky, an establishment where UFO enthusiasts and meat lovers collide, and the Mojave Lava Tube, a cave created entirely from molten lava. These treasures and more await if you ever find yourself straining your neck to catch a glimpse of The World’s Tallest Thermometer in Baker, California.

SMALL TOWN, TALL TEMPER ATURES, TALLER THERMOMETER

66 ROUTE Magazine

Very small.

Very friendly.

Very Route 66.

Atlanta | Lincoln | Elkhart Logan County Tourism Bureau DestinationLoganCountyIL.com 217-732-8687

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68 ROUTE Magazine

THE TRUE STORY

By Richard Ratay

K

emmons Wilson only intended to take his family on a road trip to Washington D.C. Instead, the journey would lead him to create America’s most iconic motel chain.

The trek that set Wilson on his fateful path to prominence occurred in the summer of 1951. Wilson’s wife, Dorothy, had been eager for her kids to tour the historic sites of the nation’s capital. So, the couple loaded their five children into their trusty Oldsmobile—a vehicle without air conditioning—and set out into the sweltering August heat to make the 900-mile drive from their home in Memphis, Tennessee.

In a time before the interstates, progress was slow and the family had to make several overnight stops. Much to their dismay, Wilson and his family found the accommodations awaiting them along their route disappointing to downright

appalling—rundown properties with dingy rooms often lacking even basic amenities. Few had swimming pools or on-site restaurants. Worst of all, at least to Wilson’s mind, the proprietors nickel-and-dimed him for every possible “extra”—from ice cubes and a baby crib to, in one case, clean sheets.

But what really got Wilson’s blood boiling was being charged an additional fee for each of his five kids. At one motor court charging $6 a night, he was slapped with an additional fee of $2 per child, more than doubling his bill!

Fuming, Wilson declared he would launch his own hotel chain, one that traveling families could rely on for clean, affordable accommodations with no surprise charges.

Dorothy laughed and asked her husband how many hotels he planned to open. Considering the question a moment, Wilson responded, “Four hundred would be a good start.”

Indeed, it would only prove to be a start.

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The Man Behind the Legend Charles Kemmons Wilson—he would go by “Kemmons,” his father’s name, since childhood—hardly seemed destined to become a motel mogul. Born in tiny Osceola, Arkansas, in 1913, Wilson was just nine months old when his father passed away, forcing his mother to move to Memphis in search of a job that could support both of them.

Against the odds, Wilson rose above such a challenging start to build a modest fortune through thrift and hard work. Wilson’s entrepreneurial inclinations first surfaced at age six, when he began selling subscriptions to the Saturday Evening Post door-to-door. To earn more money, he recruited classmates as his sales staff. At the age of seventeen, Wilson borrowed $50 to buy a machine to make popcorn that he sold in a local movie theater. Soon, he was making more money selling popcorn than the theater owner was selling tickets.

Wilson used the money he earned to build a house for his mother. He then mortgaged the property to purchase a jukebox franchise and several movie theaters. However, just as Wilson set his sights on bigger goals, the Japanese set their sights on Pearl Harbor and America suddenly found itself at war.

As he already had his pilot’s license, Wilson felt compelled to join the Army as a pilot. He’d later joke he didn’t think the war could be won without him. Wilson quickly distinguished himself as a pilot, regularly flying dangerous supply missions over the China-Burma-India theater. After the war, realizing that many of his fellow soldiers would be looking to start families and purchase homes, Wilson launched a home construction business. It was phenomenally successful.

By 1951, Wilson was a millionaire. He was also just 38 years old and looking for new challenges and ways to leave his mark on the world. At the same time, he observed firsthand on his family’s trip to Washington D.C. how young

The Wilson family packed up and ready for the road.

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families—just like his own—were increasingly streaming to the highways to discover America’s many landmarks, attractions and vacation hotspots. And it occurred to him they would need places to stay along the way.

It was time to get down to business.

Designing an American Icon By the time Wilson and his family made it home from their trip, his anger had faded. But his motivation hadn’t. America’s middle-class families really did need better accommodations while out on the road. And Wilson decided he was just the man to provide them.

Wilson began to flesh out his vision. First, he wanted to allow families the ability to drive right up to their rooms, making it easier for parents to unload and reload their luggage. Technically, this would also make the operation a “motel” rather than a hotel, a term that combines the words motor and hotel to suggest guests can park just outside their rooms. It wasn’t a new idea. Credit for the “motel” concept is claimed by the Motel Inn in San Luis Obispo, California, which opened in 1925. But Wilson would certainly popularize the arrangement.

Next, Wilson took some measurements. In order to accommodate an average family and the furniture he felt they would need, Wilson calculated each room should measure 12-feet by 26-feet including a bathroom. It wasn’t a coincidence these were also the standard lengths to which lumber was cut. Wilson knew the construction business and made every effort to eliminate waste.

Finally, Wilson compiled a list of amenities he wanted to provide guests. Based on his experience traveling in a stifling Oldsmobile with his family, Wilson knew air-conditioning was essential. Other necessities on his list included television sets (still relatively new in 1951), in-room telephones, ice machines in every hallway, complimentary baby cribs and free parking.

However, according to Wilson’s son, Spence Wilson, his father shouldn’t receive sole credit for some ideas. “It was us five kids who insisted we only stay where there was a swimming pool and an onsite restaurant so we didn’t have to pile back in the car at dinnertime,” Spence Wilson jokes. “I never was able to convince him to give us credit for that.”

As a thoughtful touch, Wilson also wanted to provide families a list of local babysitters and clergymen who could be called if needed. Oh, and one last item—a Bible in the nightstand of every room. Perhaps Wilson figured parents might need a little divine guidance after a long day on the road with children.

For assistance in selecting a color scheme, Wilson consulted his mother, Doll. She chose vibrant primary shades of green and gold, believing the contrasting combination would set a bright and cheery tone for families.

However, Wilson reserved the job of designing the property’s roadside sign for himself. Drawing on his experience owning movie houses, Wilson conceived a design resembling a theater marquee. Once constructed, the monstrous structure blazed with the light of fifteen hundred feet of neon tubing and five hundred incandescent bulbs.

From its base rose a large yellow arrow that curved up and over the sign’s top, pointing the way to the check-in desk. Tucked beneath the motel’s name was a glowing marquee upon which black letters could be placed to welcome special guests and groups. And atop it all shimmered a blinking neon star, serving as an inviting beacon for weary motorists. In time, the garish goliath would be called the “Great Sign”. It would become one of the most recognized icons in road travel.

As for the property’s name, that would be lifted from a 1942 movie starring Bing Crosby. Wilson’s architect, Eddie Bluestein, had seen the film one evening before completing a draft of the motel and scrawled the title above his drawing as a sort of joke.

But Wilson thought the phrase perfectly captured his vision of a wholesome homeaway-from-home for vacationing families.

The name, of course, was “Holiday Inn.”

The World’s Innkeeper In 1952, Wilson’s plans became a reality when the first Holiday Inn opened on Summer Avenue in Memphis. It was an instant success, prompting the construction of three more locations. Realizing the chain’s growth would require substantially The Great Sign. more capital than he could raise alone, Wilson franchised his concept to build more locations. He also took on a partner, Wallace Johnson, a skilled developer and financier.

Route 66 Hotel and Conference Center. Another location Holiday Inn’s combination of clean accommodations, along the Mother Road in Joplin, Missouri, was partly owned family-friendly amenities, and low rates—$4 to $6 a night

by New York Yankees slugger Mickey Mantle. with no extra charges for children 12 and under—proved to Wilson’s strategy was to build each new Holiday Inn at a be exactly what travelers wanted. distance of one full day’s drive from the last. He instructed What’s more, Wilson’s timing couldn’t have been better. his managers to ask guests if they could assist in making A thriving postwar economy provided Americans with reservations for their following evening’s stay as well. Of expendable income plus benefits like paid vacation time. course, all the manager had to do was place a call to the next Couples were also having children in record numbers, Holiday Inn down the road. ushering in the Baby Boom. Finally, the experience of serving If a location was full, Wilson insisted that his managers still in America’s Armed Forces during the war had inspired a sort assist guests in finding rooms, even with competitors. “Dad of wanderlust in many former soldiers. They’d seen the world. never allowed a ‘No Vacancy’ sign on a Holiday Inn,” recalls Now they wanted to see their own country—and bring their Spence Wilson, who worked beside his father for 35 years. young families along.

“His policy was ‘Take or Place.’ If we couldn’t accommodate a But the fuse to the explosive growth of Wilson’s Holiday guest he still wanted them to come in so we could find a room Inns was really lit in 1956, when Congress approved President for them elsewhere. He wanted to make a friend out of them.”

Eisenhower’s plan for America’s interstate highway system. As Wilson’s helpful approach led Holiday Inn to partner with the new “superhighways” were rolled out, Wilson made sure IBM to launch the hospitality industry’s first centralized his Holiday Inns were constructed right beside them. reservation system in 1965. Called Holidex, the chain Of course, Holiday Inns appeared along other major promoted the system as “your host from coast-to-coast,” conduits as well. The first Holiday Inn on Route 66 opened in allowing customers to book reservations at Holiday Inns Springfield, Illinois, in 1959. It’s now the site of the along their entire planned route before ever leaving home.

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The ribbon cutting for the first Holiday Inn.

At the time, it was the largest civilian online computer system in the world. An upgraded version of the same system remains in operation today, accepting more than 300 million reservations a year.

The rise of Holiday Inn was nothing short of phenomenal.

By 1959, there were a hundred locations. During 1962, two new Holiday Inns opened each week. In 1963, Wilson blew past his initial goal of 400 locations and kept right on going.

By 1968, there were an astounding 1,000 Holiday Inns, including locations in Canada and Europe.

“The key to Holiday Inn’s success was that they standardized travel,” says Arturs Kalnins, Associate Professor of Strategy and Entrepreneurship at the Tippie College of Business at the University of Iowa. “You always knew you’d have a clean, comfortable place to stay at a Holiday Inn.” Wilson himself became almost as well-known as the chain he created. In 1972, he appeared on the cover of Time magazine, hailed as “The Man with 300,000 Beds.” That same year, Holiday Inn adopted its motto “The World’s Innkeeper.”

But just like the memorable stays enjoyed by the chain’s many vacationing guests, the good times wouldn’t last forever.

One Era Ends, Another Begins In 1979, Kemmons Wilson was forced to step down from his position as head of Holiday Inn due to health issues. At the time, the chain included 1,759 locations in 50 countries, generating more than $1 billion in annual revenue. Holiday Inn dominated the hospitality market, boasting twice as many rooms as its nearest competitor.

Just three years after Wilson departed Holiday Inn, his Great Sign was also retired. In 1982, the Holiday Inn board of directors voted to phase out the colossal and expensive 72 ROUTE Magazine

sign, replacing it with a cheaper, more contemporary-looking design. A disappointed Wilson called the decision “the worst mistake they ever made.” Wilson remained so proud of the sign he designed that he specified its likeness be engraved on his headstone, a request which was fulfilled upon his passing in 2003.

The board’s decision to extinguish the once dazzling Great Sign marked the end of an era. It was also a harbinger of challenging times ahead.

During the 1980s, the remarkable growth that Holiday Inn had sustained for decades hit a major speed bump as family road travel diminished, mainly the result of cheaper airfares prompted by deregulation of America’s airlines. Suddenly, instead of traveling the highways and staying at Holiday Inns, families were driving their cars only as far as the nearest airport, then flying to their vacation destinations. Making matters worse, a variety of low-priced competitors entered the market, wooing more of Holiday Inn’s guests away.

“The Holiday Inn model became outdated,” says Kalnins.

“Families began flying and wanted to travel to more exotic destinations, often outside the U.S. Domestically, they didn’t need full-service vacation accommodations as much anymore.”

In 1990, Holiday Inn, by then a publicly owned company, was acquired by Bass PLC, the British company mostly known for producing Bass beer. In a series of deals, Bass PLC morphed into the InterContinental Hotels Group (IHG), the company that still owns Holiday Inn and its related brands, including Holiday Inn Express, today.

Under IHG’s direction, Holiday Inn underwent a fundamental transformation in 2007. By that time, most Holiday Inn motels constructed following Wilson’s original model were considered relics. To restore the Holiday Inn brand, the company announced a $1 billion rebranding initiative, the most expensive such effort ever.

As part of the plan, underperforming properties were sold off while others were renovated or constructed from scratch.

Today, there are 1,246 Holiday Inn hotels worldwide. These new properties were designed to retain much of the spirit and many of the amenities Wilson wanted to provide traveling families—comfortable, functional rooms plus swimming pools and restaurants at most locations. However, the placement of the new “upmarket” Holiday Inns is substantially different, located mainly in downtown areas or near major attractions.

Among these is the Holiday Inn SW Route 66 Hotel & Conference Center near St. Louis, which also features a ‘50’s-themed T-Bird Café.

The home of the original Holiday Inns—along the highways of America—is now mostly the domain of Holiday Inn Express, the chain’s sister-brand which focuses more on business travelers and “guests on-the-go.” Foregoing onsite restaurants and bars, there are currently 2,872 of these slimmed-down Express versions of Holiday Inns in existence.

As of 2008, just eight of Wilson’s vintage Holiday Inn motels remained operating.

Of course, for those of us old enough to remember the original Holiday Inns, countless fond memories also remain.

Memories of begging our moms for just five more minutes in Wilson’s thoughtfully provided central swimming pools.

Memories of pillow fights with siblings in Wilson’s clean and meticulously well-appointed rooms. And, of course, memories of being welcomed by Wilson’s dazzling Great Sign, ablaze with all its twinkling lights and neon, assuring us our long day’s journey had just come to a most satisfying end.

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ROUTE Magazine 73

OLD

74 ROUTE Magazine

FLORIDA

By Hayley Bell Photographs courtesy of Ken Breslauer Roadside Florida Archives

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O

n the day of JFK’s assassination, Walt Disney flew over a promising site in central Florida. From high in the sky he could see that the construction of I-4, as well as the existing highways, would deliver a huge flow of visitors into a park if he created one.

Disneyland in California was successful, but fewer than 5 percent of its visitors traveled from beyond the Mississippi, so Disney knew that there was great potential way out east, but only if he could find the right location.

And then he found it, in the swamps of Orange and Osceola Counties.

But back before there was even a whisper of The Florida Project (as Walt Disney World was referred to in its development stages) on the drawing board, and the interstates had yet to be built, Florida was home to a myriad of roadside attractions designed to lure in travelers as they headed south to chase the sun. Many of these quirky amusements and businesses have quite literally fallen by the wayside on the old routes, but there are those that remain and offer retro charm as well as a real vintage flavor of the state and its natural beauty.

Oh, Henrys Until 1940, Florida was the least-populated southern state, but it had the second-longest coastline after Alaska. There was much to be explored. In essence, the birth of modern Florida tourism is a tale of three Henrys. Ever since Henry

Gatorland in Orlando, FL. 76 ROUTE Magazine

Flagler built a railroad at the end of the 19th Century and began constructing fabulous resort hotels on the Atlantic Coast, the idea of “every day a June Day, full of Sunshine Where Winter Exists in Memory Only” (a 1913 advertising tagline for the Florida East Coast Railway) was appealing to those who could get away from the harsh northern winters.

Henry Plant was doing much the same over on the Gulf Coast, with his sumptuous railroad hotels catering to the affluent vacationer. Florida started out being the winter playground for the wealthy. Then along came Henry Ford and his assembly line, which created many new car owners.

Between 1913 and 1927, 14 million affordable cars rolled off the production line. With the new highways that were being built linking Florida with the rest of the country, a new kind of traveler was created: the tin-can tourist.

He might not have much money to spend at fancy resorts and he might have to eat beans out of a can to further economize, but this tourist was on his way to enjoy sunny Florida and ready to soak in all that the tropical state had to offer. This was a time of discovery on the American tourism landscape.

Fatal Attractions And so, homespun attractions offering a taste of the exotic wildlife that was inherently Florida began to spring up along the roadside. In the early days, the Sunshine State was the place where you could watch rattlesnake handlers jump into a snake pit and “milk” the rattlers for their venom. After the show, visitors with adventurous appetites might buy delicacies such as cans of Rattlesnake in Supreme Sauce and dried and salted Snake Snacks from the gift shop.

For a while in the 1930s they could even send mail postmarked Rattlesnake, Florida, from the local Post Office.

This was End’s Rattlesnake Headquarters and Reptilorium, set up by farmer-turned-businessman George End. Sadly, after a lifetime of careful reptile handling, Mr. End met his own end by a fatal snake bite. The anti-venom he selfadministered was out of date and he died on July 27, 1944, within hours of being bitten.

End’s widow sold the snake business onto herpetologist Ross Allen, who established a Reptile Institute at Silver Springs, where scientific research was conducted as a side to the entertainments.

Visitors would watch Allen wrangle with huge anacondas, and Seminole Indians recruited from the Everglades would wrestle with frightening alligators. It was the era in which tourists seemed to enjoy seeing men tussling with wild animals.

In 1948, Bob and Mae Noelle parked their traveling animal show and opened Noelle’s Ark, starring ‘the world’s only athletic ape’. Chimpanzees would box or pummel volunteers prepared to get into a cage, and fight with them. Not surprisingly, the chimp

Serpentarium on US 1.

would always win. And even less surprisingly, this infamous roadside attraction, with a reputation for being one of the worst roadside zoos, was forced to close. It later reopened as the Suncoast Primate Sanctuary, with an emphasis on providing a retirement haven for animals who have worked in the entertainment industry.

Bongoland was a small park in Port Orange named after its resident baboon. It opened in 1948 on the site of the Dunlawton Sugar Mill ruins. The first dermatologist in Daytona Beach, Dr. Jerry Sperber, was a man with no expertise in running a tourist attraction, but had a keen interest in prehistoric life (he even wrote a book called Sex and the Dinosaur). So, acting on his passion, he decided to open a park with diverse features, such as a replica Seminole village, a miniature train ride and some dinosaurs created from chicken wire and concrete. Sadly, after just four years, Bongoland closed its gates. It’s now a botanical garden, although the deteriorating dinosaurs, covered with moss, can still be spotted amongst the exotic plants. It is just possible to make out a sign hanging on one of them that reads “closed for lack of public interest.”

Over the decades there have been many attractions that sought to bring a Western flavor to Florida. Among them were Ocala’s Six Gun Territory, Panama City’s Old Laredo, and Pioneer City in Fort Lauderdale. They all offered features such as stagecoach rides, Indian trading posts, mock gunfights between cowboy actors and saloon supper shows.

The Aquatarium at St Pete Beach opened in 1964 and billed itself as the “World’s Largest Marine Attraction.” On prime Gulf of Mexico frontage, it echoed Miami’s Seaquarium with its shows presenting jumping porpoises, leaping dolphins — especially the star performer Floppy, who could jump 25 feet into the air—and pilot whales, who performed in the world’s

largest seawater marine tank under a 1600-foot-tall golden geodesic dome. The impact of Disney was felt a little more each year, though, and the attraction was rebranded as Shark World, hoping to capitalize on the popularity of the movie Jaws. This proved to be unsuccessful, and after a failed attempt to add waterslides to the attraction, it was forced to close at the end of the 1977 summer season.

Cue the Mermaids But a different type of marine life has kept a park that opened in the 1940s afloat. Florida has more springs than anywhere else on the planet, and one of the most beautiful is at Weeki Wachee Springs State Park. It’s a First Magnitude spring: the deepest explored freshwater spring in the northern hemisphere, discharging 117 million gallons of fresh water per day from a cave opening 100 feet below the surface. It’s over 37 million years old, and, at 99.8 purity, with a constant temperature of 74 degrees, it’s the perfect place to find mermaids.

Back in 1947, a former Navy frogman and expert swimmer/ diver called Newt Perry was scouting for a location to take his vision of balletic synchronized swimming underwater. He had grown up playing in the beautiful Silver Springs, becoming a member of the Florida Gators swimming and diving team.

He appeared in early newsreel films showing off his aquatic talents (which included drinking sodas and eating bananas under water) and performing stunts for the Tarzan movies that were filmed locally in the late 1930s. And then an opportunity arose for him to develop his dream at Weeki Wachee, close to US19, one of the major routes through Florida.

“At that time people were using the Springs as a dump.

There were cars, refrigerators and whatever in there. So, for ROUTE Magazine 77

a couple of years Newt and a colleague—a guy named Ricou Browning, who ended up being The Creature from the Black Lagoon—cleaned out the Spring. Newt invented the selfregulated air hose breathing apparatus that we still use to this day,” said John Athanason, public relations manager at Weeki Wachee Springs State Park.

Perry recruited a group of synchronized swimmers from St. Petersburg—the Aquabelles—and taught them underwater skills, how to use the air hoses, and how to lure in the visitors from the highway.

“As you drove down US19 you saw the scalloped shell roof and you knew that’s where the world famous Weeki Wachee Mermaids were. This theater is so unique that no one in the world will ever be able to duplicate it,” Athanason continued.

“There are laws now that prohibit anyone from sinking a 400-seat theater into a natural spring, but in the ‘50s there were no such laws in existence. Disney couldn’t even do what we have here.”

“You know, the biggest misconception people have is that the mermaids swim in a tank or in an aquarium. That’s not the case. We’re the ones actually sitting in the tank or aquarium,” he continued. “They’re swimming in this 99% pure open spring with five mile per hour current, and the air that they take in keeps them buoyant. They don’t wear weights. Ask Mermaid Vicki here. She’s a complete natural.”

Mermaid Vicki is one of the Legendary Sirens - mermaids of yesteryear who return to the Springs each month for special shows. She enthused about the blue-green world of pure water. “When I was 17, I was sometimes tired and cold and didn’t want to get wet. But the minute I jumped in I was in another world and I never wanted to get out. And that’s still true for me today at 80! Plus, I can still do things under water: I can bend over and touch my toes and do dolphin back flips, but I can’t do that on land! When you’re a mermaid, you’re a mermaid for life!”

“By the way,” Vicki leans in and says confidingly, ‘‘I still have the speeding ticket,” and she laughs as she tells how she was arrested on the day she performed for Elvis Presley. “Elvis

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was coming to the park and we were told not to be late. We had to be in full makeup, ready for interviews. I’d been out the night before, but I woke up early and I was out the door,” she recalled. “I was driving along this country road in Tampa when all of a sudden I see these red lights. Now remember, this was back in 1961. The police officer cited me for speeding. I couldn’t believe it! He said, ‘You’ll have to come with me to the station,’ and I said ‘I can’t get in your car. I’m a mermaid and I’m swimming for Elvis Presley today.’ It made me so mad.

But he made me get into the police car and I sang ‘Jailhouse Rock’ on the back seat all the way to the station.”

Sunken Treasure It wasn’t just tourists who visited Florida in the early days: many people headed south looking to catch a piece of the land boom action that swept the state at the beginning of the 20th Century. One was George Turner, a plumber by trade who came to St. Petersburg looking for an opportunity.

And he found one. With the creation of Sunken Gardens, one of the area’s most enduring tourist spots that is possibly even the oldest roadside attraction in the whole of the state, Turner struck gold.

Turner knew that he could find plenty of work in the newly incorporated city of St. Petersburg as well as try his hand at the land boom. The newspapers were full of exciting sales announcements and everybody was buying. He bought a six-acre site with a shallow lake built on an ancient sinkhole.

As a plumber he knew how to create a gravity fed drainage system using terracotta pipes (that still run through the gardens today). And as an avid hobby gardener he had the expertise to cultivate exotic plants which flourished in the rich, fertile soil.

He opened Turner’s Papaya Farm in 1911 and sold fruits, vegetables and other plants, including Royal Palms that eventually grew too large to move. Turner realized that people were more interested in the tall palms and lush botanical gardens that lay beyond his fruit stands, so he charged a small fee for visitors to wander around. Later, he fenced the area and charged a 25-cent admission.

“It was 1935 when he officially opened to the public. It didn’t hurt that he’d opened during the Depression because during that time so many people were looking for escapism of any kind, such as going to the movies. Sunken Gardens had a similar admission fee. People were looking for a beautiful, tranquil place to enjoy and get their mind off their worries,” said Sunken Gardens’ Jennifer Tyson.

The Gardens enjoyed huge popularity during the midcentury decades as one of Florida’s top attractions. In the 1960s an adjacent Mediterranean Revival building that had been a Coca Cola bottling plant was incorporated and turned into the World’s Largest Gift Shop. To keep up with moving times, other features were added over the years.

“We had a wax museum called King of Kings here that started in 1968 and focused primarily on the life of Christ.

People were lined up around the corner for that. It was the heyday for that kind of thing. A local woman made all the life size figures by hand and set them in tableaux of the Last Supper and other scenes. It closed in 1995. The last I heard of it was that it was in a museum in Iowa,” added Tyson.

There had been the inevitable decline in visitor numbers as the major theme parks around Orlando soared in popularity, so the Gardens added a typical reptilian Florida feature:

Image courtesy of John Margolies.

Fountain of Youth billboard, Route A1A, Florida. 1979.

Kachunga and the Alligator Show. But trends and tastes for animal shows were changing, too, and the visitor numbers started to dwindle further. The Gardens, which were still family owned and onto the third generation of Turners by then, were put up for sale and looking for a buyer.

“There were different plans that fell through. There was a condominium that was planning on building here so everything would have been razed, which is sadly a typical Florida story. A nudist colony had looked into it, too, and thought it was the perfect place for them—you’ve got the walls, and natural foliage—and some people say that’s really what sparked the neighborhood outcry of “We need to save Sunken Gardens!” People voted to tax themselves one time to give the city enough money—more than $3 million—to buy Sunken Gardens outright so that it would be saved.”

And that’s what happened. Sunken Gardens is now owned by the City of St. Petersburg and is very much a jewel in the city’s crown. The alligators have been replaced with a flock of Chilean flamingos who have joined the original two who have lived in the Gardens since 1956.

The Changing Landscape The quaintness of roadside Florida has changed considerably since large corporate entertainment complexes arrived and expanded. Weeki Wachee is now owned by the State of Florida. Being owned by cities or the state and being preserved for their cultural and historical significance might be the only way for these parks to survive alongside the competition of Disney and Universal Studios.

“In the early ‘70s when Disney was erected, it was just the Magic Kingdom. When people came to visit, they had a week’s pay and a week’s vacation. So, they came to Orlando and they saw Disney and in one day they were done. They said, ‘What else do we do?’ So, they traveled and went to see some of the other attractions: Cypress Gardens, Silver Springs — and Weeki Wachee,” added Athanason. “Now you have four Disney parks, two or three Universals, and Sea World. In one week they can do a different park every day without leaving the city of Orlando. When that happened, a lot of these roadside attractions couldn’t sustain the financial impact.”

Florida is still a tourist magnet for those wishing to escape winter’s wrath as well as families seeking summertime fun.

Retirees still set their sights on moving to the Sunshine State, and with 21 million residents, Florida is a lot more crowded than when the early roadside entrepreneurs set up shop. For a place that was originally a swampy peninsula dominated by alligators, the tables have turned, with people now outnumbering them 12 to 1. Things will never be the same.

The evolution of Florida’s roadside attractions has yielded fewer of the kitschy variety, and more mega-parks that keep people locked in for days. It’s hard to fault Walt Disney for recognizing the opportunity that he saw that day from the air. And none can overlook the influence that the three Henrys had a century ago. The tourists have approved, of course, but in the process, it left Florida with only a handful of the old roadside gems that it once boasted.

They are there. You just have to look a little harder to find them.

ROUTE Magazine 79

PARTING SHOT

Charles PHOENIX What is the most memorable place you’ve visited on Route 66?

Blue Swallow Motel in Tucumcari, NM … first runner up: Wig Wam Motel in Holbrook, AZ. Most famous or noteworthy person you have ever met? Lily Tomlin. What characteristic do you respect the most in others? Integrity and talent. Dislike in others? Tardiness. What characteristic do you dislike in yourself?

I’m scatterbrained. Talent that you WISH you had? Neon bending and theme park designer. Best part about two-lane highway traveling? Discovering unexpected time warps and treasures along the way. What is your greatest extravagance?

Having my live show suits tailor made. Favorite road travel films? The Long, Long Trailer and Pee Wee’s Big Adventure. What is the weirdest roadside attraction you’ve ever seen? S.P. Dinsmoor’s Garden of Eden in Lucas, KS. Let’s just say there is a dead body involved …his! Best state to see giant objects? California.

We have almost a dozen giant donuts, more than anywhere. Most memorable hotel/motel that you have stayed at? Definitely the Madonna Inn in San Luis Obispo, CA. Most memorable person on Route 66? There are two, Kevin and Nancy Mueller, the couple that restored and run The Blue Swallow. Last book you’ve read?

I peruse more books that I read … this week I can’t put down Motel California by Heather David, and The Cinderella Homes of Jean Vandruff by Chris Lukather.

Best Americana-focused author?

Jim Heiman. Every time I see him, 80 ROUTE Magazine

I remind him he’s a hero of mine. What breaks your heart?

Mid-century American landmark buildings and signs not being preserved for future generations. What is still on your bucket list to visit? So many places … New Orleans, Mackinaw Island, South of the Border in South Carolina, Sip ‘n Dip in Great Falls, MT to name a few. What movie title best describes your life? Back to the Future. Ghost town or big city person? Big city! What is your favorite small-town in America? Wildwood, New Jersey. Strangest stop on Route 66? Grand Canyon Caverns – you can even spend the night down there.

Which historical figure - alive or dead - would you most like to meet? Walt Disney. If you won the lottery, what is the first item you would buy? A Cinderella home and all the vintage furnishings. What food item can you not live without? Jiffy Pop, Jell-O and Jujy fruits. Bizarre talent that you have that most people don’t know about?

Roller skating. What surprises you most about people? What they collect and their hidden talents. What makes you laugh?

Lucy. Most unknown (but should be) stop on roadside America? Roadside America in Shartlesville, PA. It’s my fav roadside attraction on the planet. Also, Weeki Wachee in Florida. Strangest small town in America? Lucas, Kansas, Folk Art Capitol of the U.S. What do you think is the most important life lesson for someone to learn?

Don’t judge a book by its cover.

What is one thing you have always wanted to try, but have been too afraid to? Fly a jet plane. What do you want to be remembered for? Celebrating classic and kitschy American life and style!

Illustration: Jenny Mallon.

“Ambassador of Americana” Charles Phoenix is best known for his Kodachrome slideshows and dazzling books that highlight elements of kitschy, classic American life like Muffler Men, mid-century motels, and quirky tourist traps. In this issue’s Parting Shot, we get to know the man behind the retro suits a little better as he shares hidden gems along America’s quieter highways, his fondest memories of the road, and where he plans to travel next.

SO MUCH TO SEE IN OKC Occupying the historic Ford Motor Company assembly plant, 21c Oklahoma City is a multi-venue contemporary art museum and boutique hotel. The perfect Mother Road destination for the curious traveler.

Best hotel in the Midwest – CondÊ Nast Traveler Readers Choice Awards 2019

#thisis21c 21cOklahomaCity.com Matthew Geller, Woozy Blossom (Platanus nebulosus), 2010-2015.

Steel, water, copper, pump.

With more than 300 days of sunshine a year – and a unique mix of tranquil waters, rugged mountains, and tons of fun – it’s hard to stay inside. Discover Lake Havasu City – just a short drive from Route 66 – and play like you mean it.Ž

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