Kick Back on Route 66
Whether it’s classic cars, old fashioned burgers or a museum that brings history to life, you can relive the glory days of Route 66 in its birthplace. We love our city and know the best places to eat, drink and play. SEE YOU IN SPRINGFIELD,
MISSOURI
Start your journey at VisitOKC.com. FirstAmericansMuseum
When cruising Route 66, Oklahoma City is a must-see destination. OKC’s vibrant districts welcome visitors into their diverse local restaurants and shops. Our classic neon signs and inspired murals evoke the nostalgia of the Mother Road, providing fun by day or night. Our world-class museums and only-in-OKC experiences will ignite memories for a lifetime.
39thStreetDistrict Uptown23rdDistrict
ST. ROBERT, MO Route 66
Skip the interstate and take a trip down Historic Route 66 in Pulaski County! Our 33-mile stretch of classic Americana and breathtaking scenery is filled with kitschy fun, delightful diners, and dozens of shops, stops, and selfie ops filled with merriment only these two moms can deliver. MOTHER
Come Say “Hi” to our favorite moms. Plan your trip at pulaskicountyusa.com.
A MUST-STOP ON ROUTE 66!
Route 66 Art Park Original “Ribbon Road” of Route 66
Historic Coleman Theatre Rt 66 Gateway Sign
Steve Owens Heisman Trophy Statue
WW II British Flyers Cemetary
Famous Ku Ku Burger
13 Area Casinos Murals on Route 66
Mickey Mantle’s Hometown Statue
22 Still On The Road
By Cherwyn Cole
Located in the serene Route 66 town of Cuba, Missouri, the Wagon Wheel Motel represents classic Mother Road motels at their finest. Discover the fascinating history of the longest operating venue on the old highway, and how a determined woman from Iowa helped restore it to its former glory.
30 Defining the American Dream, One Sign at a Time
Today, the Burma-Shave Company may be mostly known for its catchy roadside jingles, but the story behind this Minneapolis-born brand and its quirky advertising campaigns is as interesting as its catchy signs. Discover the inspirational, witty family behind BurmaShave and the struggles that they faced on their path to success.
38 A Conversation with Kathy Bates
By Brennen Matthews
In this exclusive interview, award-winning actress Kathy Bates shares insights into her celebrated career, memorable roles, and personal journey. Bates reflects on her experiences in Hollywood, challenges faced, and the importance of resilience and creativity in her craft.
46 An Unconventional Life
Located in the heart of the Mojave Desert, the Bagdad Cafe isn’t just the setting of the off-color 1980s film, Bagdad Cafe — it has a tale to tell. Dive into the restaurant’s fascinating history and meet its longtime owner, Andrea Pruett, to learn about
the journey she took to acquire this Mother Road icon and the devastating losses that she has encountered along the way.
54 The Ra66it Ranch
By Phoebe
Billups
When being (just) another souvenir shop on the Mother Road wasn’t eye-catching enough, owner Rich Henry stumbled upon a motherload of hare-raising attractions. No roadie or animal lover can pass up a visit to Henry’s Ra66it Ranch, where they’ll be met by rabbits of both the Volkswagen and mammal variety. Take a gander at the life and legacy of this Illinois stop. This article is a tribute to the late Rich Henry.
66 Carrying on Tradition
Community is at the heart of Nelson’s Old Riverton Store, where one special family’s unique history humbly rests on the Kansas plains. This is their story.
ON THE COVER
Oatman Highway, Arizona. Photograph by Efren Lopez/ Route66Images
Davenport, Oklahoma. Photograph by Brennen Matthews.
There’s something magical about a road trip down Route 66. It’s not just a stretch of asphalt connecting Chicago to Santa Monica; it’s a journey through time, culture, and the soul of America. Known as the “Mother Road,” Route 66 embodies a unique spirit of adventure, offering travelers a front-row seat to an extraordinary mix of colorful people and places that have shaped the road’s and the country’s history.
They say that a road trip down Route 66 isn’t about the destination—it’s about the journey. And I agree. Along the way, you’ll encounter the unexpected: neonlit motels, vintage gas stations, quirky roadside attractions, and endless horizons. These landmarks tell the stories of an America built on dreams, determination, and creativity. But what makes the journey truly special are the people behind these stops—passionate individuals who have kept Route 66 alive for nearly a century.
In this special issue, we invite you to journey with us down the “Mother Road,” and meet some of the people who have maintained the magic that still defines Route 66, keeping its legacy vibrant for new generations of travelers.
Among those dedicated to preserving the charm of this legendary road is the late Rich Henry, the proud owner of Henry’s Rabbit Ranch in Staunton, Illinois. Equal parts quirky roadside attraction and a tribute to Route 66, Henry created a space that draws travelers in with its playful spirit—featuring a rabbit-themed homage to Route 66, complete with vintage signage and even real rabbits! It’s a symbol of the unique, creative stops that define the Route 66 experience. Sadly, Rich Henry passed away unexpectedly in August 2024, but his very special influence on Route 66 in Illinois continues, and his simple but endearing Rabbit Ranch continues to be a story that deserves to be told.
Further west in California, we celebrate the beloved Bagdad Cafe in Newberry Springs. This cozy, desert-bound diner became internationally famous after starring in the 1987 cult classic film Bagdad Cafe, and today, it continues to welcome visitors from around the world. The Bagdad Cafe, as well as its friendly owner, Andrea Pruett, embody the essence of America’s Main Street, offering warmth, nostalgia, and the allure of an almost forgotten era.
We also honor Connie Echols, owner of the historic Wagon Wheel Motel in Cuba, Missouri. Established in 1938, this beautifully restored motel offers travelers an authentic experience of yesteryear. Echol’s passion for preserving its vintage charm has made the Wagon Wheel Motel a cornerstone of the Route 66 journey, where the past meets the present.
This issue is a tribute to these iconic figures and places and many others who ensure Route 66 remains a vibrant part of America’s story.
Also in this issue, we are thrilled to feature the incomparable Kathy Bates, a true Hollywood treasure. When deciding who to feature in the October/November issue and knowing that the focus was to be on icons, we could think of no one more fitting than Kathy Bates. After more than five decades of amazing performances, Bates is now bringing her talent and charisma to CBS’s new legal drama, Matlock, where she takes on the titular role in a reimagined version of the classic series.
Bates’ portrayal of a sharp-witted and tenacious attorney is nothing short of remarkable. Her ability to blend gravitas with humor breathes new life into her character, making the show a must-watch. As always, Bates captivates, reminding us why she remains one of the most iconic and versatile actresses of our time.
This is always a very special issue for me. I love all of the new attractions and destinations opening across the country along Route 66 and other historic highways and scenic byways, but it is the veteran, historic spots that really make my heart beat. I truly adore meeting the dedicated, fascinating characters behind these beloved places and stand in awe of their focus and determination. It is an honor to tell their stories.
As we begin the fall season, I wish you all a wonderful transition and safe travel out on the road.
Best,
Brennen Matthews Editor
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
DIGITAL
Matheus Alves
ILLUSTRATOR
Jennifer Mallon
EDITORIAL INTERNS
Agnes Volland
Brie Blevins
CONTRIBUTORS AND PHOTOGRAPHERS
Annabel Lee
Cecil Stehelin
Chandler O’Leary
Cherwyn Cole
Efren Lopez
Frank Jastrzembski
Ian Lyons
Phoebe Billups
Robyn Stockwell
Sonja Flemming
Wikimedia Commons
Editorial submissions should be sent to brennen@routemagazine.us.
To subscribe or purchase available back issues visit us at www.routemagazine.us.
Advertising inquiries should be sent to advertising@routemagazine.us.
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 service contractors. Every effort has been made to maintain the accuracy of the information presented in this publication. No responsibility is assumed for errors, changes or omissions. The Publisher does not take any responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts or photography.
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Chicago
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Braidwood
Dwight Pontiac Pontiac
NAT LOVE and the African American Experience in the West
Born on a slave plantation outside of Nashville, Tennessee, Nat Love didn’t assume the stereotypical image of a future Western legend. Following the abolition of slavery, Love and his family began work as sharecroppers on their former plantation. When Love’s father died, the future cowboy icon was faced with the unwieldy task of caring for his mother and two siblings. So, on February 10, 1869, at the young age of fifteen, Love gathered his grit and resolve and headed West, where he would later make his mark upon American history.
Historians’ knowledge of Love’s life stems from his 1907 autobiography, The Life and Adventures of Nat Love , in which he recalls the horrors of slavery and the cowboy experience in raw, unfiltered detail — a testament to his profound storytelling talents. It is within the pages of Love’s memoir that the African American experience in the West comes to life.
“It was typical for many African American men (especially those who weren’t married) to head West,” said Roger Hardaway, Professor of History at Northwestern Oklahoma State University and co-editor of African Americans on the Western Frontier. “People started ranches, rounded up wild Texas longhorn cattle, as well as cattle that had escaped from Texas farms during the Civil War, branded them, and claimed ownership of them. Several thousand cowboy jobs developed very quickly. The pay was often something like $15 a month, plus room and board. This was more money than most African American men could make doing anything else. The work was hard, but there was not as much prejudice on this so-called ‘cattle frontier’ as elsewhere.”
drinking, gambling, and making the acquaintance of women who worked in the dance halls and saloons in Dodge City.”
During the 1870s, Love took his cowboy profession into Arizona, and in 1876, he drove a herd of cattle all the way to Deadwood, Dakota Territory, where he won a rodeo contest. Having witnessed his uncanny cowboy skills, impressed onlookers gave him his legendary nickname, “Deadwood Dick.”
In his memoir, Love recounts harrowing encounters with Native Americans during his Western travels. While these accounts may be true, they may also be a figment of Love’s bold imagination. “The truthfulness of all of these adventures has often been viewed with skepticism because Love exaggerated things often and greatly in his autobiography,” Hardaway said. “Remember, too, that ‘dime’ novels about cowboy heroes were popular during the late 19th Century, and so an autobiography of a cowboy would be more fun to read if it included runins with Native Americans, outlaws, and others — and Love delivered these things in his autobiography.”
By the 1880s, Love had grown tired of the cowboy life. In 1889, he married his wife, Alice Owens, and settled down in Denver, Colorado, where he got a job as a Pullman porter with the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad. “Being a porter was certainly a service job — much like a steward or stewardess today on an airplane — serving drinks and food, running errands for the passengers, stowing away baggage, etc.,” Hardaway said. “Many porters were black, and many trains went through Denver, so it made sense to get such a job as a married man who was getting too old to do cowboy work.”
The first place where Love found work was in the legendary cowboy town, Dodge City, Kansas. “Dodge City was one of the most important cattle towns,” Hardaway said. “The cowboys would be paid at the ‘end of the trail;’ that is, when they delivered the cattle to the buyers or agents. Usually, before going back down the trail, they would buy new clothes and hit the bars in the particular cattle town they happened to be in at the time. He talks in his autobiography about
Love’s time as a Pullman porter took him and his family through several Western states, before they finally settled in Los Angeles, California, where he worked as a bank security guard. There, in 1921, Love died at the age of 67, and his fate as a Western figure of note was sealed.
Regardless of whether Love fabricated some of his experiences, his fascinating story is a testament to the lives of other African Americans who bravely sought opportunities in the West in the wake of abolition. And for this reason, it’s a story that should not soon be forgotten.
LAUTERBACH MAN
The Giant of Springfield, Illinois
When people think about Springfield, Illinois, they think about several things: it’s the picturesque state capital and most certainly the central hub for all things Abraham Lincoln. It is a fun, relaxed town that has a lot to see and do, but small enough not to overwhelm visitors. But one thing that not everyone knows, unless you’re driving Route 66 that is, Springfield is undoubtedly one of the most vibrant Mother Road stops on the old highway. In fact, with its connection to famed Route 66 artist Bob Waldmire, the delectable Cozy Dog Drive In, cool vintage signs like the Sonrise Donut shop and Pioneer Motel, and quirky Rail Splitter: Skinny Abe Lincoln statue, Springfield holds more than its fair share of Mother Road pull. But there is one attraction that seems to entice more people off of America’s Main Street than any other: the towering Lauterbach Giant.
Today, the giant sits on Wabash Ave. in front of Lauterbach Tire & Auto Service, patriotically holding an American flag, and is a beacon to motorists on the search for a healthy slice of Americana. His bright red shirt and blue pants, weathered brown boots, full brown beard and quizzical eyes, are a call back to yesteryear when the Paul Bunyan design was seen in many incarnations across America. But Lauterbach’s story is not so simple.
First purchased by Russ Lewis in 1961 to draw in customers to his new business, Midtown Tire, the larger than life muffler man found a home in front of Lewis’ new shop on State and Laurel Streets. Lewis’ scheme was a good fit for the times as muffler men were popping up across the country, the ultimate advertising gimmick. Unfortunately, the shop only survived a year before closing, and the giant was in a pickle. He needed a new place to call home. In 1962, brothers Edward Jr. and Edward McGaughey, rescued him and placed him in front of their Roundup Motel, café, and service station in small town Farmersville, Illinois, where he stood guarding the road for 16 years, until the motel closed in 1978. While Russ Lewis’ shop didn’t fare too well with the giant, his son, Dave, recognized its potential and bought him back from the brothers and moved him to his current location where he still stands today.
continue to operate the tire shop, preserving the giant with a fresh coat of paint every few years.
Things were mostly quiet for the Lauterbach Giant until the night of Sunday, March 12, 2006, when a tornado came roaring through Springfield, giving the exposed muffler man quite an injury. “We had damage to our building and did not realize until later that he had been literally decapitated,” explained Mark Lauterbach, co-owner of Lauterbach Tire & Auto Service. “We found out the following day [that] a local guy who lived in the neighborhood found the head in his backyard. It was nestled in the roof of The Barrel Head, which is a restaurant right next door to [us].”
Given the damage that the storm caused, Springfield’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade had to be postponed for a week, but that didn’t make the parade any less special, as Mayor Tim Davlin requested the presence of Lauterbach’s “head” to ride on a trailer in the parade. Considering the hard times that many Springfield residents were experiencing from the tornado, seeing the smiling, strange head of the Lauterbach Giant in their annual parade certainly helped to lighten the mood. The giant’s crown was reattached later that month, and he has never looked better. While the Lauterbach Giant has remained a public figure in Springfield for many years, the 21st Century gave him his own unique personality, complete with a deep, lumberjackesque voice. In 2006, the Lauterbachs partnered with Midwest Family Broadcasting and began their popular Lauterbach radio commercials, creating a persona for the giant to further entice people off the road. “We were not utilizing him prior to that, other than on business cards. Probably in hindsight, it was just untapped potential, not using him.”
Business is a tricky proposition and the giant’s current home went through a series of owners, starting with Dave Lewis, who sold the shop to his brother Bill, who in turn sold it in 1985 to Jay Lauterbach and his family. A flurry of ownership changes later and the Lauterbach Giant is still proudly owned by the Lauterbach clan. Jay passed away in 2018, but his wife Jane and two of his sons, Mark and Brian,
Coupled with his colorful character and storied past, the Lauterbach Giant will continue to be a prominent fixture in Springfield and one of its most popular attractions. “I think that the Lauterbach Man compliments the other giants we have in town,” said Scott Dahl, Director of Visit Springfield. “We have the Rail Splitter at the Illinois State Fairgrounds, which is a young Abe with an axe in hand, we have a pink elephant off of 6th Street that people will often stop and get their photo next to, Ace Sign Company has a sign museum [that] compliments that whole 66 nostalgia…” Springfield, Illinois, is definitely a Mother Road town with a bevy of treasures, but having its own surviving muffler man really does set them ahead.
The next time you decide to hit up Route 66 and sail down through Springfield, Illinois, be sure to visit the Lauterbach Giant and remember his friendly radio advice to “Drive safely now.”
STILL ON
THE ROAD
By Cherwyn Cole
Opening photograph by Efren Lopez/Route66Images
Nestled into lush greenery along old Route 66 is a row of English-style cottages that seem straight out of a storybook. The quaint stone cabins, adorned with whimsical masonry and steep, peaked roofs, are not freestanding but rather conjoined into three broad, singlestory bungalows. The enchanting venue rests peacefully in the tranquil setting, seemingly untouched by time, evoking a quiet, Old World charm. The history of this place is as intriguing and humble as the individuals who have cared for it over the years. This idyllic lodging, now listed on the National Register of Historic Places, is none other than the Wagon Wheel Motel in Cuba, Missouri.
As automobile travel grew exponentially in popularity as the 20th Century pushed on, highways became lined with primitive tourist camps, which in turn gave rise to tourist courts during the 1930s and ‘40s. Pretty cottage courts sprang up, offering all the comforts of home. And even at the time, the Wagon Wheel was one of the finest.
The 1941 AAA Directory of Accommodations called the Wagon Wheel Cabins a “home away from home, with cottages far enough removed from the highway to insure quiet rest. An exceptionally fine modern court of 14 stone, insulated cottages...” A matching stone café and a tiny gas station were situated close to the highway, the better to catch the motorist’s
eye. Every service and amenity that a tired traveler could want was conveniently waiting at the Wheel.
Meanwhile...
In the mid-1940s, the Wagon Wheel changed hands, about the same time that, up in Iowa, a young G.I. named George Caspers married 19-year-old Erma Schlotterbeck. George and Erma started their family at Anamosa, Iowa, on a cattle farm. A daughter, Connie, was their second child of eight. This girlchild learned how to work hard, ride a horse, and make a home pretty and welcoming. But even Connie could not know how interesting her journey would be.
“My father was a hard-working World War II veteran, a SSGT in the U.S. Army and a Purple Heart recipient, who I believe suffered from what they now call PTSD,” Connie explained. “My mother worked at home taking care of everything for the eight of us, which I never fully appreciated until later years.”
One summer, brothers Les and Ray Echols from Cuba, Missouri, arrived in Iowa to work at the mill on the Caspers’ farm. There, they met and eventually married sisters Connie and Riva. At the age of 18, Connie moved to Cuba with her new husband. At that time, the Wagon Wheel was immaculately maintained and still enjoying decent business, with rooms renting for about $17 per night. Connie always loved the look of the quaint stone buildings. Little did she know that 40-plus years later, she would rescue an unkempt older version of the motel.
Life and Work in Cuba
Les worked as a farmer and logger, and Connie put her domestic arts to work. Two children, Angela and Greg, were born of the marriage. “I always worked hard for things I wanted and believed in, and the welfare and happiness of my family was always number one on my list,” Connie emphasized. Together, she and Les restored a historic farmhouse, and she learned some construction skills to add to her arsenal of talents. She first worked outside the house at Cuba Nursing Home, and next at Whistles, a niche shoe company. “My favorite job was [at] the shoe factory in Cuba. I helped with making samples, stitching, and setting piecework prices for fourteen years. Sewing was also something I always enjoyed. I made shirts, kids’ clothes, and prom dresses, and later my daughter’s wedding dress and bridesmaid dresses for numerous weddings.”
Connie stands alongside Route 66.
Image by David J. Schwartz –Pics On Route 66.
a long illness, I quit the hat factory to open The Wildflower, a florist [shop], in an older building which I remodeled twice over fifteen years. During those years I thought I had learned some about construction. It was nothing like restoring the Wagon Wheel!”
After the last owner of the Wagon Wheel passed away, Connie drove through the grounds, imagining what she could do with the historic gem. “I had always thought the stone buildings were great, but it was so overgrown that you didn’t get a good view of it,” she explained. “I never gave it a thought till I went to see what they were going to do with it.” Then, the idea of a grand restoration took root as she contemplated the motel’s long history.
How the Wheel Got Rolling
Scottish-born Robert Martin and his wife Margaret arrived in sleepy Cuba in 1934 for one purpose – to build one of the finest tourist courts on Route 66. The area’s economy had been stagnant since the early 1920s, but Cuba was beginning to come alive with the golden touch of U.S. Highway 66 flowing through its environs. New cafés and stations were opening at “the Fourway,” the main intersection, and the townsfolk were hopeful.
a spacious area for their cabins. In 1936, on the adjoining small parcel, they would build a gas station and a café to lure travelers to fill their gas tanks and stomachs.
Well-known area stonemason Leo Friesenhan was the Martins’ choice for the work. The cabins were constructed of Ozark fieldstone, built parallel with the highway, and joined by covered carports into three buildings, offering ten guest rooms. They opened their doors in 1938. The Martins kept Friesenhan busy for several more years, adding outbuildings and converting the carports into four additional rooms to accommodate increasing demand.
But as they expanded their court’s capacity, the Martins set their sights on a lodging complex in a larger city. With plans to buy and expand the Pierce-Pennant Tavern in Rolla, 24 miles east, the Martins were ready to sell the Wagon Wheel Cabins. They found buyers, Clifton and Beulah Speer, and Edmund and Violet Koebelin, in 1946. The two couples may have purchased the Wagon Wheel as an investment, or discovered that they didn’t care for the business, but they quickly resold the cabins a year later to John and Winifred Mathis for $68,000, a large sum at the time.
The Mathises renamed the lodging the Wagon Wheel Motel, and John designed the iconic neon sign, which still stands, to announce the change. During their tenure, the
Image by David J. Schwartz –Pics
On Route 66.
couple added two new buildings, one of which became four additional rooms, boosting the total to eighteen, and they joined the Best Western Motels referral network, which rated the Wagon Wheel Motel as one of the finest in Missouri.
The ‘40s through the ‘60s were good years for the Wheel, with thriving business and room rates at an economical $17 to $19. With Fort Leonard Wood opening in 1940 just an hour south of Cuba, military traffic moved up and down Missouri 66 until it was replaced by vacationers in the post-war travel boom. Around the Fourway, new businesses opened, while others expanded to accommodate the influx of tourists.
Pauline’s Forty Years
In 1963, Pauline and Wayne Roberts of Aurora, Illinois, met the ready-to-retire Mathises and warmed to the idea of buying the Wagon Wheel. Wayne remained in Aurora working two jobs until his retirement, while Pauline moved to Cuba to operate the motel. Wayne made a weekly trip to Cuba for the next six years.
Roy Mudd, a mechanic reeling from a divorce up in Illinois, somehow made his way to Cuba, where Pauline hired him and let him stay at the venue. Roy showed his gratitude by handling the mowing, the maintenance, and any other chores she would assign.
Wayne died of cancer in July 1980, the same week that a tornado took the roof off one of their buildings. Heartbroken, Pauline soldiered on with her devoted assistant Roy and a female employee, Liz Simpson, who stayed for the next twenty years.
Eventually, Roy got a job at Schwieder Ford in nearby Bourbon, but he continued to take care of the Wagon Wheel. Alderman Jeff Bouse was just a boy who lived across the highway from the motel when he started hanging out there. “My dad and Roy were friends, and I started helping Roy with the yard work,” Jeff remembered. “He had an old Ford tractor and numerous cars that he enjoyed working on.”
Pauline, at age 73, married Harold Armstrong in 1988. Soon, changes – and not for the better – were noticeable at the motel. Armstrong didn’t believe in wasting good money on maintenance; Route 66 was suffering from the worst years of its decline, and the City of Cuba had lost industries. Pauline and Harold took in anyone who had a few dollars. Police started making regular visits in response to all the complaints, and respectable guests wouldn’t stay even if they wandered off the interstate. This chapter ended with Pauline’s death in 2003, followed by Roy in 2005 and Harold in 2008.
Connie reflected on Pauline’s forty years of ownership: “I found out how hard she had worked and that she also had the bossy gene, which it takes, and why the place got so run down. I certainly can see why they did weekly-monthly rentals when that is all the calls you get in winter months, and times like these. Pauline was the homeless shelter in Cuba for years. She said, ‘People need a place to stay and I don’t need any more money.’”
Less than a year after Armstrong died, Connie purchased the complex from his son James, who was still renting rooms at $11 per night. “They were renting it up until the day I bought it. I kept it open but changed who was allowed to stay–only
single working guys, no kids or women as it wasn’t safe. It has never closed, ever, in 84 years,” she emphasized.
Wagon Wheel neighbor Jeff Bouse was a city employee then, and when Connie needed the utilities transferred into her name, news traveled fast. “I was tickled to see Connie take it over, because, for me, it’s a special place,” Jeff said. “And Connie makes everybody feel at home there.”
Connie would indeed make everybody feel at home, and now she owned the whole complex–the historic motel, the old Wagon Wheel Cafe, and the tiny gas station.
The Tangled History of the Cafe and Station
Although the Martins built the entire complex, the pair largely focused on opening the cabins by 1938, and put their energy
and time into this particular goal. In an effort to divest their time from the other business entities, they signed a five-year lease with Marathon Oil, but recruited refinery worker Joe Slowensky and his wife Clara to operate the station and the café. This decision began a complicated litany of operators, owners, and oil leases that might require a Venn diagram to understand.
Flash ahead to 1950, Sadie Mae and Bill Pratt acquired the café and made it one of the most popular eateries along Missouri Route 66. But with four-lane construction underway east of town, the Pratts wanted to purchase land there for a new restaurant. In 1956, it was the end of the line for the Wagon Wheel Cafe when the Pratts sold it to a medical office, which was followed by a stream of various tenants. The building never held another eatery.
Connie’s Restoration
Connie knew just what to do with that café building–she would clean it up to open a new business, Connie’s Shoppe, just in time for Christmas shopping. “Good friends pitched in right away, while seriously doubting my sanity, I found out later. When I told my mother what I’d done, her reply was, ‘What the hell’s the matter with you? Are you crazy?’”
Determined to get the job done, Connie and her crew removed partitions, a dropped ceiling, and layers of flooring, revealing the original beams, hardwood flooring, and stone fireplace. She sold her florist business, keeping the gift inventory for the new shop. It had been a mad rush, but the shop was open on schedule. However, the restoration had
Image by
David J. Schwartz –
Pics
On Route 66.
The lovely stone cottages are representative of Missouri architecture.
only just begun; before tackling the arduous task of restoring the motel, there was just time over the holidays to take a breath.
The motel’s restoration proved challenging, even for Connie’s capabilities and perseverance. The gas tanks needed to be dug up and hauled away, and soil and building materials tested. The basements, attics, and garages were full of “years of hoarded junk.” Overgrown vegetation needed to be cut. The frame structure surrounding the station was torn off and became bonfire kindling. As for taking on such a demanding project, Connie explained, “I always enjoyed a challenge and a chance to be creative. Breaking horses and barrel racing in my teens … learning to play a decent game of golf. Then the florist business.” But the Wagon Wheel project may have been more daunting than she expected.
New plumbing, wiring, and HVAC were installed, and new beds, modern amenities, and Connie’s decorative touches readied nineteen rooms for a new generation of guests. She followed the U.S. Secretary of the Interior’s Standards for Rehabilitation to preserve historical elements and materials and to maintain the original purpose of the site. Grant assistance from the National Park Service Route 66 Corridor Preservation Program in 2012 also aided the restoration.
“One [of my] brothers was my go-to person if I had a building question; another brother was my mechanical advisor. They gave me the confidence to stick to my ideas,” Connie laughed. “I had lots of support from [sister] Riva, including help with every brainy idea that I thought I could do myself, from staining windows, laying floor tile, to hanging curtains.”
As boxes of registration cards and checkbooks were unearthed, the sisters wanted to make sure that the Wagon Wheel’s history, as well as its renaissance, was properly documented. Riva organized the materials, conducted research, and put it all together in a cohesive narrative. Her book, The Wagon Wheel Motel on Route 66: The History of a Route 66 Icon, was published in 2011.
Support came from a new source in October 2011 when Connie met lifetime local farmer Charlie Yowell.
“When Charlie and I got together in 2012, we were cutting firewood for spending money. The next year things started to turn around, even with another year of construction. I never could have kept up without him. [My family] are all such a big help when I need them,” Connie
said. “It’s not the Marriott, but we have white linens and the cleanest rooms in the area, with beautiful outside areas to relax and help compensate for the historically small rooms. We try our best to keep all the ‘historic’ things working all day every day!”
Since opening in June 2010, registrations read like a Who’s Who. Authors, photographers, and musicians; filmmakers and documentarians; car and motorcycle clubs; tour groups; international guests; and the Oak Ridge Boys – four times. “We appreciate that many Route 66 enthusiasts traveling the highway make a stay at the Wagon Wheel a must,” said Kim Roedemeier, Cuba Tourism Director. “We are lucky to have such a unique piece of history, such a quaint attraction, to draw Cuba as a destination.” Cuba’s downtown is compact and walkable, with other attractions within easy driving distance. “A variety of dining establishments are within walking distance, as are the historical murals, making this charming motel a great central location,” added Roedemeier.
As she looks to the future of the motel, Connie remains optimistic. “I'm preparing to hand over the Wheel to the right buyers while it’s still in prime condition. I’m confident that Route 66 will always remain a major attraction.”
For now, the Wagon Wheel Motel is ready to offer you a step back in time. The intriguing Connie’s Shoppe always offers a fresh array of Route 66 souvenirs, antiques, and fun, quirky accessories. On a pleasant summer evening, you can view the property from the deck with a cold beverage in hand, or just sit back in a comfortable lawn chair as fireflies light up the night. Nineteen lovely, spotless rooms with historic touches, modern amenities, and fresh white linens offer rest and renewal for another day on Route 66. And the innkeeper is always ready to welcome you to your home away from home.
Connie arranging the shop as the day begins.
Image by David J. Schwartz –Pics On Route 66.
Defining the American Dream, ONE SIGN AT A TIME
By Annabel Lee
Illustrations courtesy of Chandler O’Leary
Behind almost every great success story lies an inspiring tale of struggle, ambition and ingenuity — and in the case of the Burma-Shave Company, it also included an ingenious advertising and marketing concept that defined the Burma-Shave cream as one of the most popular brushless shaving creams in the United States.
The 1920s was a decade of rapid change. Men and women were suddenly clumped together in raucous and loose social gatherings. Prohibition ironically ignited an insatiable demand for alcohol, and innovations in all aspects of life were on the rise. Seeking relief from the horrors of the Great War, people began searching for ways to make their lives easier and more enjoyable. This newfound desire for innovation targeted the daily routines of many Americans — including the way that men groomed.
As far back as 100,000 years ago, based on cave painting depictions, it is believed that men would pull out their facial hair using seashells as rudimentary tweezers. This approach slowly advanced, and men began using makeshift razors from flakes of obsidian or shells. The Romans were known to apply pumice stones and oils to their skin after a shave, while treating any nicks with ointment. But it was the Egyptians, forced to shave under the orders of Alexander the Great, who put into practice the use of oils as shaving cream. And hence, the traditional art of wet shaving - the use of shaving creams, brushes, and initial wrapping of the face, was born.
In mid-19th Century England, a brushless shaving cream called Lloyd’s Euxesis emerged, irreversibly changing the way that men shaved. The cream did not create lather and eliminated the need for a brush or shave mug, requiring less time than a traditional shaving cream. For men looking for convenience and speed, the brushless shaving cream was the answer. However, the brand proved to be a major misfire. Consumer reports claimed that the cream would mildew easily and adopt an unsavory green color, making Lloyd’s Euxesis a less-than-favorable option. Little did the English brand know that a more successful brushless shaving cream would soon spring up on the frosty soil of Midwestern America.
Burma-Shave, a witty, homegrown brand hailing from the city of Minneapolis, Minnesota, uprooted Lloyd’s Euxesis failed attempts at reinvention and conquered the task with determination, intelligence and, most of all, an abundance of heartfelt humor. But before Burma-Shave earned its place as one of America’s most popular shaving creams, it lived in the dreams of an inventive, determined businessman named Clinton M. Odell.
First Come Struggles, Then Massive Success
When Robert Odell began experimenting with chemicals during his leisure time, his son, Clinton M. Odell, should have sensed that significant changes were on the horizon.
After all, it was the late 19 th Century, and invention was on the rise. Steam engine trains were now roaring across the nation’s landscape, connecting people in ways that once seemed unimaginable.
Like many young men during the era, Robert was raised on the idea that self-reliance and hard work made a man. According to Robert’s great-grandson, Clinton B. Odell, it was his great-grandfather’s ingenuity and grit that set his family on a sure path to success and inspired his grandfather, Clinton M., to make his own entrepreneurial dreams a reality.
“[Clinton M.] was terrific,” Odell said. “He really was a self-made man. Actually, his father, Robert Ransom Odell, immigrated from New York state in about 1880… and I think a lot of my grandfather’s push and drive was from his father, because in those days, they would think nothing of having their sixteen or seventeen-year-old sons ... just telling them to get out of the place, and with this young man, that’s exactly what he did. He spent about half a year in California, and in the year 1892 or 1893, that’s when my great-grandfather [Robert] got the energy and drive he ended up having, because he was a true entrepreneur.”
“[Robert] went through law school at the University of Minnesota, and consequently, he started a law business, but he got a little tired of that. After that, he went to one of the first insurance businesses in Minneapolis, formed that with a good friend of his, and it simply got to a point where that wore him out. So, he spent about four years to recover — he had a nerve disorder called sciatic rheumatism, and it evidently was quite sensational, and it almost wiped him out. But then he came back, and he had to quit the insurance business. That company was called the White and Odell Insurance Company. So, he came back, and he was looking for something to do. He had a family to feed and what have you.”
According to Clinton B., concocting the perfect formula for Burma-Shave was a matter of trial and error: “My grandfather [Clinton M.] worked on a cream with his father, Robert — he liked to dabble in chemicals and what have you, although he was a lawyer and an Indian agent from this particular area. My grandfather ended up setting up a written agreement with his dad where he could market the product, which my great-grandfather had messed around with. At the time they called it Burma-Vita. Burma-Vita consisted of oils, actually, from a ship captain my greatgrandfather got to know very well. They manufactured it, and they called it a liniment. My uncle always told me that my great-grandfather was up in an office in the old Globe Building in downtown Minneapolis. He said that he could always tell when his grandfather was messing with those chemicals because he could smell them. In those days, there were a lot of openings for successful products, or improved products, in so many different areas. So, they tried to market Burma-Vita … It just didn’t work. They couldn’t get it to sell.”
In Frank Rowsome, Jr.’s book, Verse by the Side of the Road: The Story of the Burma-Shave Signs , Clinton M.’s son, Leonard Odell, spoke to Rowsome about the evolution of Burma-Shave from an unprofitable liniment to a highly successful brushless shaving cream.
“Well, we sure starved to death on that product [the liniment] for a couple of years. With a liniment you have to catch a customer who isn’t feeling well, and even when you do, you only sell him once in a while. The wholesale drug company in town, the people that we got the ingredients from, kept reminding dad that it would be better if we could find something that we could sell [to] everybody, all the time, instead of just hunting for people who were sick. They gave dad some Lloyd’s Euxesis to see what he thought of it.”
In 1925, when liniment sales were at an all-time low, a local chemist named Carl Noren walked into Clinton M.’s office to ask for a job. Some time prior to this fateful meeting, the same man had been hospitalized for a serious illness but had made a full recovery.
Moved by the man’s story, Clinton M. wrote Noren a Christmas card with twenty-five dollars tucked inside. Evidently, Noren felt that he should perform an act of kindness in return.
When Clinton M. asked Noren if he could try his hand at a brushless shaving cream, the chemist immediately started experimenting on a formula. After 143 attempts, he achieved the final brushless shaving cream formula, and thus, BurmaShave was born. Around the time that the Burma-Shave Company emerged in 1925, Clinton M. married Grace Evans Odell, with whom he would have Leonard and Clinton B.’s father, Allan, and later George in 1942.
Within the business realm, BurmaShave experienced setbacks like any other fledgling company. For one thing, the company’s location was an impediment in itself. “In Minnesota, you always have
Arliss ‘Frenchy’ French, the winner of a trip to Moers, Germany, alongside Allan Odell. December 8,1958.
problems in the winter,” Clinton B. said. “It’s freezing. And, I can recall a time when they shipped a whole box car load of Burma-Shave, and when it got down to Chicago, it had frozen. So, they had to bring it all back, destroy it, and start over again.” At the same time, other brushless shaving cream brands emerged, including Gillette and Barbasol, threatening the stability of the small business. Nevertheless, the humble family-run brand managed to stay afloat due to a clever advertising strategy.
It’s All in the Ads
With the creation of Burma-Shave, the Odells found themselves in the throes of a daunting, new commercial venture. Compared to other shaving products of the time, the Burma-Shave cream was not particularly different or unique. Sales were markedly slow to begin with, and the company was in need of a marketing hook that would effectively showcase their new product and brand. That is, until Clinton M.’s son, Allan, came up with an inventive, amusing advertising concept, which would prove to be tantamount to the company’s success.
This was the same decade that saw the rise of Henry Ford, who had released his Model T, which sold in the millions, and automobile culture had taken off. Having recognized the success of other roadside signage during his travels through Illinois, Allan saw an opportunity to promote the new shaving cream using road signs with cheeky, quirky and memorable jingles — a humorous take on an advertising classic. So, he asked his father to give him money to start working on his sign ideas. When Clinton M. asked his
friends what they thought of Allan’s idea, they all agreed that it would never work. Nevertheless, Allan persisted, and his father finally relented and gave him $200 to purchase used sign boards. Allan and his younger brother, Leonard, created the first set of Burma-Shave rhymes and installed them on Route 65 to Albert Lea, Minnesota, as well as on the road to the neighboring town of Red Wing.
In his interview with Rowsome, Leonard discussed how the company’s early signs prompted a greater demand for Burma-Shave, despite his father’s uncertainty. “By the start of the year [1925], we were getting the first repeat orders we’d ever had in the history of the company — all from druggists serving people who traveled those roads. As he watched those repeat orders rolling in, Dad began to feel that maybe the boys were thinking all right, after all. He called us in and said ‘Allan, I believe you’ve got a real great idea. It’s tremendous. The only trouble is, we’re broke.’”
Despite his hesitancy, Clinton M. decided to give his son’s concept a chance. Backed by an ailing company and an advertising notion that was seen as a failure, Clinton M. bravely employed his superior sales knowledge to sell 49 percent of the stock in less than three weeks.
In 1926, the company acquired its first store — a nondescript, white clapboard house on E. Lake Street in Minneapolis. Here, they began manufacturing their brushless shaving cream and famous signs.
Every aspect of the Burma-Shave Company was a product of precise experimentation and calculation — even in terms of the ways in which the signs were placed along highways. The signs were arranged in sets of six, placed 100 feet apart, making it so that travelers had exactly three seconds to read
each sign driving at a rate of 35 mph. The signs consistently rhymed and created interest in travelers to know what the punch line would be. They were composed of red painted boarding and white letters — a combination of colors that made the signs stand out from other roadside signage. At the peak of Burma-Shave’s successful run, there were over 7,000 signs erected along American highways in 45 states.
According to Rowsome, a Burma-Shave signage scout, who they called the “advance man,” would travel America’s highways in search of ideal locations for signs. Often, such locations were found on farmland, where there were fewer large billboards and greater long-distance visibility. Farmers often enjoyed Burma-Shave signs that were planted on their land and wished to establish long-lasting relationships with the humble, family-run company.
In Rowsome’s words, “Mostly the relationship between farmers and Burma-Shave was an amiable one, with many leases extending over decades. ‘Oh, occasionally we’d get a man who’d pull down some signs to patch up his barn,’ noted John Kamerer, head of the company sign shop, ‘but it was mainly all the other way. The farmers were kind of proud of those signs. They’d often write us if a sign had become damaged, asking us to ship a replacement that they’d put up themselves. In the years when we brought old signs back here to the plant, when lumber was short, I’d sometimes see where they had repaired or repainted signs on their own hook, often doing a fine job of it, too.’”
Just as Allan predicted, the signs proved to be a hit with road travelers, providing people with a bit of roadside entertainment in an age where conversation and scenery stood in place of handheld technology. “They were enjoyed,” Clinton B. said. “They were pleasant. A lot of this took place during the Recession. Back in 1929, ’30, ’31, things were
tougher in this country, and people enjoyed them because they were happy. They weren’t anything that was discouraging or upsetting.”
Burma-Shave rhymes proved to be so popular, in fact, that the Odell family decided to hold yearly contests for people to submit their best jingle ideas, which people evidently loved as much as the signs themselves. “They were, of course, very popular — the sign contests,” Clinton B. said. “They had two a year. And I always knew when they had a contest going because my dad … He always got off-color ones, as you can imagine, and some were very funny. So, my dad would tell his secretary to compile the off-color ones and bring them home. And my mother and he would go into our library and close the door, and I’d hear all this uproarious laughter.”
In addition to promoting their product, Burma-Shave jingles covered a variety of topics and even approached difficult subjects, such as drunk driving. According to Clinton B., it was important to his grandfather that BurmaShave signs avoid controversy, and he was very meticulous about which jingles would make it to the road. While there were many memorable Burma-Shave jingles, Clinton B. had his own favorite: “Does your husband — Misbehave — Grunt and grumble — Rant and rave? — Shoot the brute some — Burma-Shave.” As for Clinton M., Allan and Leonard, they seem to have shared a favorite: “Within this vale — Of toil — And sin — Your head grows bald — But not your chin – Use — Burma-Shave.”
While Burma-Shave signs were most commonly seen along American roadways, they could also be found in other places outside of the country. During the 1960s, the U.S. Army had the idea to plant Burma-Shave signs in Korea and Burma for servicemen to get a glimpse of a heartwarming reminder of home. The signs even made their way into the frigid continent of Antarctica, where servicemen were stationed during a series of missions code named Operation Deep Freeze. In truth, Burma-Shave signs had become a symbol of America, and for this reason, they had the very special ability to comfort those thousands of miles away.
The Burma-Shave Legacy Lives On
For decades, the Burma-Shave Company dominated the shaving cream industry, providing quality products backed by a humorous, loving family. The company met its end when it was sold to Phillip Morris of the American Safety Razor Corporation on February 7, 1963. As a result, Burma-Shave’s famous signs were removed from American roadways, taking decades of cherished memories with them. Today, only one
Clinton B. Odell (left) and Burdette Booth (right) making Burma-Shave signs.
full set of Burma-Shave signs exists, and it’s housed in the Smithsonian National Museum of American History. It also happened to be the favorite jingle of Clinton M., Allan and Leonard.
In 1958, Burma-Shave’s co-founder, Clinton M. Odell, died, leaving the family business to his sons. Decades later, in 1991, Leonard died, followed by Allan in 1994, Grace in 1999 and George in 2011. Today, the Burma-Shave legacy lives on in Clinton B. Odell, who shares his family’s story with a pride and happiness that transcends the passage of time. “It was an easy-going, fun family, and they laughed easily. These three men were wonderful men, and I really miss them.”
Although times have changed drastically since Burma-Shave sat fully stocked on store shelves, the company’s influence on men’s grooming and advertising remains unprecedented. What began as a single liniment gave way to a wide array of products, including brushless and aerosol shaving cream, aftershave, talc, tooth powder and razor blades.
Considering Burma-Shave signs defined road travel during the mid-20 th Century, there’s no question that the signs have made a profound impact on American popular culture. They were often featured in hit TV shows during the 1970s and even served as the inspiration for songs by legendary artists, such as in Roger Miller’s 1965 tune “Burma-Shave.” But Burma-Shave’s presence in popular culture is still very much alive and well today, finding its way into the 21st Century in ways many people may not realize.
For the hit 2006 animated film, Cars, Route 66 served as the movie’s main inspiration, but Burma-Shave also made a subtle guest appearance. According to Michael Wallis, author of Route 66: The Mother Road , his time as a consultant for C ars allowed him to implement Burma-Shave signs into the film.
“I actually often took the whole creative team out on the road. I was able to take them to places and introduce them to people they would never have met, and all of those places made it into the film. Every car or automobile comes from real life … Mater, for instance — he comes from about four or five different bizarre characters out on Route 66. I made sure there were ample doses in the film of some of the iconic sights of Route 66, and that included Burma-Shave signs. There are Burma-Shave signs in Cars Land in Disney, the park that Disney created, and I was their consultant as well to create this 12-acre park that is Radiator Springs cometo-life. It’s very cool. There are Burma-Shave signs along a stretch of road. They aren’t Burma-Shave, though. What they’re pushing is the product that sponsored Lightning McQueen as a race car driver — his official sponsor, which is called Rust-eze.”
Truly, Burma-Shave became an emblem of road travel, during which time the journey along the road was often as exciting as the destination. Naturally, the Mother Road was home to many Burma-Shave signs, and one town in particular is doing its part to preserve this aspect of its history. In the small town of Seligman, Arizona, in 2007, Carol Springer, District Supervisor of the Yavapai County Public Works, decided to erect a set of Burma-Shave signs along Route 66 to commemorate the town’s history. After gaining permission to use original Burma-Shave rhymes, they successfully recreated sixteen signs, which are planted along the highway that runs through Seligman and still stand today.
In addition to Seligman, the town of Towanda, Illinois, takes great measures to honor its Route 66 heritage, boasting a collection of Burma-Shave signs. At the Towanda Route 66 Parkway, visitors can learn about the vibrant history of the Mother Road by walking along the parkway’s beautiful trail, which features old Burma-Shave signs that used to sit along this old portion of the route. The parkway’s other signs showcase stories and photos illustrating other Route 66 landmarks in Towanda’s history.
Burma-Shave signs, among other pieces of vintage Americana, represent a unique aspect of our nation’s cultural heritage, beckoning to those with an appreciation of America’s past — and present. While the influence of BurmaShave on popular culture is profound, so is its place in the hearts of those with a love of roadside history, who hail from places around the globe. The hunger for vintage Americana is one that will never be satisfied as long as a love for road travel continues to thrive.
While the Burma-Shave Company is more commonly defined by its beloved jingles, the entrepreneurial genius of the family behind it deserves its own form of recognition. In truth, the Burma-Shave Company defines the American Dream. Out of his own creativity and profound business instincts, Burma-Shave’s founder was able to conjure up his own legacy. He did so in an era unfacilitated by the Internet, drawing on his family’s hard work and enthusiasm to fuel his dream. In retrospect, it’s safe to say this dream became a flourishing reality, thanks to one recreational chemist and his advertising-savvy grandson.
Clinton M. Odell (center) alongside his two sons, Leonard (left) and Allan (right).
A CONVERSATION WITH
Kathy Bates
By Brennen Matthews
Photographs courtesy of Sonja Flemming/CBS
Kathy Bates is a luminary in the world of acting, celebrated for her remarkable versatility, powerful performances, and enduring presence in film, television, and theater. With a career spanning over four decades, Bates has continually captivated audiences with her ability to inhabit diverse roles, making her one of the most respected and beloved actresses of her generation. Born on June 28, 1948, in Memphis, Tennessee, Bates discovered her passion for acting at a young age and pursued it fervently, eventually studying theater at Southern Methodist University.
Bates’ breakthrough came in 1990 with her unforgettable portrayal of Annie Wilkes in the psychological thriller “Misery,” a role that earned her an Academy Award for Best Actress. This performance showcased her extraordinary talent for bringing complex and intense characters to life, setting the stage for a prolific career. She has since delivered a series of critically acclaimed performances in films such as “Fried Green Tomatoes,” “Dolores Claiborne,” and “Titanic,” demonstrating her range from dramatic depth to compelling vulnerability.
In addition to her success on the Big Screen, Bates has made significant contributions to television. She has earned multiple Emmy Awards for her work in series like “American Horror Story” and “Six Feet Under,” where her nuanced performances have further cemented her status as a formidable and likable talent. Her foray into directing and producing has also garnered praise, reflecting her multifaceted artistry and dedication to the craft.
Beyond her professional achievements, Bates’ personal journey is marked by resilience and advocacy. She has openly shared her battles with health issues, including a bout with ovarian cancer and a double mastectomy due to breast cancer, inspiring many with her courage and determination. As a passionate advocate for cancer awareness and research, Bates has used her platform to raise significant awareness and support for those affected by the disease.
Kathy Bates’ long lasting career and personal strength have left an indelible mark on the entertainment industry and beyond. Her ability to evoke empathy and connect with audiences through her performances, coupled with her unwavering spirit, makes her a true icon whose legacy will continue to inspire for generations to come. But who is the real person behind the many diverse characters that audiences have come to love on screen and stage? The genuine essence that Bates truly represents is perhaps more captivating and endearing than any of the fictional personas that we have seen to date.
Being born in the South in 1948, would you say your childhood played a significant role in shaping who you are today?
Growing up was seminal for me. I came along very late in my parents’ lives—my father was born in 1900, and my mother was born in 1907. We lived in Memphis, and I lived a very sheltered life. Because my parents were older, that generational difference was difficult. I had two older sisters — Mary and Patricia — they are 9 and 15 years older than I am. I was a mistake. My mother said she kicked like a mule when she found out she was pregnant with me, she couldn’t get her new fur coat closed over her stomach. (Laughs) My
eldest sister, Patricia, didn’t want to walk me in the baby carriage because she was afraid people would think that she had a child out of wedlock. My mother was embarrassed that she was 41 when she had me, because it meant that she was still having sex at that age. I grew up in a very old-fashioned family.
Was the difference in age between you and your sisters something that impacted your experiences growing up?
I didn’t notice that difference so much until I was graduating from high school. I heard kids in the hall talking about applying to Harvard and Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I really hadn’t thought about college because my father had always said to us girls, “I’ll give you two years in college, and we’ll see how you do.” It was still the time, in his mind, that women taught school, were secretaries, or got married. I decided to go to school; my mother told me to come back with an “MRS” degree. I didn’t know what that meant, but I figured out that she meant “Mrs.”
You attended Southern Methodist University. What influenced your decision to go there?
There was a meeting in the library hosted by a man from Southern Methodist University. I said, “Well, that sounds convenient.” I went to the library, I sat, I don’t recall what he said, but I thought, “Yeah, that sounds good.” I went back to my father, I thought that he was going to have a heart attack. The university was expensive. It was in Dallas, Texas. Very wealthy girls went there—very wealthy children from oil families. Bless his heart, my dad worked during his retirement years to put me through college. He and my mother both gave up their retirement to raise me.
Over the years I have struggled with that. I know they emotionally struggled with it, too. As I have gotten older, I have grown to understand it. It first hit me when I was in my forties and a friend of mine from Texas appeared on my doorstep with a Labrador puppy—who had canine parvovirus. He had smuggled him on to the plane. He thought he was doing something wonderful for me because my Yorkie had passed away. I had to go out of town for work and when I came back she was gigantic. I thought, “I can’t take care of this dog!” in some small way I realized in that moment… I understood what my mother must have been feeling: “I don’t want to be saddled with this, it’s not something I want.” She did things out of duty, out of obligation.
It seems like your mom had a profound influence on you.
I often think about how smart she was. It’s ironic, I’m playing my second lawyer, and she could have been a lawyer. She gave me my love of books—and her sister Lee… Lee worked in a bookstore, and she would send us publisher’s copies of children’s books. She wrapped them all individually so we would have many things to unwrap on Christmas Day. We would gather our books up, run to our bedrooms, and read, read, read.
My mother was really smart—she educated herself. She taught us manners. When I think about Molly Brown and Titanic , I remember my mother teaching me to start on the outside and work our way in [at a table setting]. She taught us that if you can buy only one thing, make it the best
you can buy. She had three books by her bed—The Bible, Shakespeare, and Emily Post. She taught herself how to write thank you notes. When she passed away, we were with her, and I remember thinking, “Come into me.” I wanted her to experience my life; she had worked so hard. I never thanked her personally when I won the Oscar, and I always regret that. I thanked my family in general, but I didn’t thank her. My father was no longer alive.
You obviously have a great deal of respect for her. In the roles that you play, your characters are generally quite wise, warm, and maternal, but you have not started your own family. Was that intentional?
As my father used to say: “Travel light.” Our teenage years were very difficult years. I was sick for a long time with a kidney infection, I gained a lot of weight. I wanted to be a dancer and I had to give that up. I had great conflict with my parents during those years. The dining table was a battle ground and I wanted to run away from that. But I had to stay because they would help me with where I wanted to go. It was survival and I was a teenager. I remember thinking, no matter what happens in that house, I must get help to go where I want to go. I remember the day I left for college, and my mother came out and said, “Take me with you.”
I never looked back.
In some ways, my family life and career life took different paths. My career was an escape. I remember that my brotherin-law came to visit me in New York and said, “Come home. You don’t have to prove anything to anybody.” But I knew I had to stay; this is what I had to do.
When I got to go to Southern Methodist University, it was incredible. It was orientation day; the dean of the school was giving us a passionate speech—how we will begin to do what we loved the most. Suddenly I thought, “I love the theater and acting the most.” I feel most at home there. It was who I was. I was very conservative, but in the theater department, I was with people with beards, long, unkempt hair… hippies… and I was like, “What is this?” It was like Alice in Wonderland. I changed my major two or three times. My father was exasperated because he was paying all of this money and I wasn’t studying biology, chemistry, and the sciences. I didn’t relate to them at all. That was around 1967 or 1968.
When you made the move to New York City, did you go by yourself, or did you know others there?
The timing was incredible. I went there just as the theater department was shifting, it was changing from an elective to a proper conservatory. It was fortuitous. We studied Chekov, Shakespeare, Greek theater, period styles... I was able to meet friends that I’ve stayed in touch with. Several had an apartment in NYC that they were sharing with other classmates at 108th and Riverside Drive. I was so lucky to have friends who showed me the ropes.
How did you enter into the world of film?
Gale Forsythe — who was a milliner — with whom I went to school, knew John Guare — a brilliant playwright. He was working with Miloš Forman on Miloš first American film, Taking Off. They were strapped for cash, so, as a favor to John, Gail went down — she was a fabulous cook — and
prepared dinner for them. My nickname in those days was Bobo. I played the guitar and sang; I had written a song about the loss of innocence. My mother gave me a guitar when I was twelve, and I taught myself how to play and sing. The film was about girls who ran away from home. He needed people and asked Gail if she knew any girls who do that, and she said, “Yes, Bobo does.” I went down, sang my song for them, and they featured my song in the film. Carly Simon had a song in it, too. It was an exciting time.
The entertainment industry is all about timing and who you meet. When you were doing Vanities (off-Broadway play), Warren Beatty was in the audience, and was so taken by your performance that he introduced you to his buddy Dustin Hoffman?
That’s right. He introduced me to Dustin, and I was lucky enough to audition for him. He was casting for a film called Straight Time (1978). I was out in Los Angeles living with my sister Mary who had moved out there a while before, and I got the part.
We were all at [Hoffman’s] house; there was a scene where we were supposed to talk through a screen door. I don’t know where he got the screen door, but he was holding this screen door in between us and we did the scene together, and he really liked some of the things that I did, and he cast me in the role right then and there. And I remember saying to him, “Can I call my mother?” I mean, you know, “Is this really happening?” I learned a lot from Dustin. I remember doing a table scene in that movie… everything was fine until the camera turned on me. I said, “I feel like an apartment building with all of the doors and windows closed.” He said, “Can you hear Owen setting up the shot?” Owen Roizman was one of the finest cinematographers ever. I said, “No.” He said, “Listen and see if you can hear him.” The minute I started to focus on Owen, I relaxed. He said, “That’s it.”
Along the way I’ve had people teach me and help me. I auditioned for Three’s Company. I knew the sitcom world wasn’t my forte. I hadn’t developed my craft enough. If we go back to SMU, the engine that drove my passion was Dr. Burnet Hobgood, head of the department. He sat the first-year students down and said, “Look, it’s gonna take you 15 years to do this. You have to learn your craft, intern, build up your clientele and your practice.”
I remember 15 years ago, being in New York, taking over for an actress in an Athol Fugard play, with only a week to learn the role, breaking down the script, doing an accent, and thinking, “I’m a working actor, I can do this.” Hobgood was right.
How did the role in Misery come to happen for you?
I was still very much involved in theater when I moved out to L.A. and I did a production of ‘Aunt Dan and Lemon,’ but Rob Reiner was dating Elizabeth McGovern, who was in the play, and he would come almost every night and bring her roses and he saw me playing this fanatic, and I think he had seen me in plays in New York, too. So, when it came time to cast ‘Misery,’ I think they were interested in Bette Midler and certain names, you know, to play this character. And then they decided maybe it was better to go with somebody who was really unknown. So I went in, and it was similar to being
cast in ‘Straight Time,’ in that, you know, I came in to Rob’s office and sat down, read a scene or two with him, and then he cast me, and I said, “Can I call my mother?’’
Misery (1990) changed your life in many ways. James Caan once told me that you very much enjoyed rehearsing, preparation that was quite different from his style. You and [Reiner] would run lines a lot together.
Yeah, Jimmy was a free spirit, a little crazy in those days. I had a crush on Todd, the camera operator. I remember the first day we started working together, I was put off, I felt no connection with Jimmy at all. Rob said, “You’re having a relationship with someone . . . you miss each other, just passing each other. Annie has an idea of who he is, not the real person.” That helped a lot.
I had just come off of Night, Mother, and I was so primed. Yet, I felt so stiff. However, it seemed to work for the character. When I have met other actors and people — on the upper strata of what I do — I am paralyzed. I remember being at the last Oscars, I met Charlize Theron and could barely breathe. I was trying to tell her that she was wonderful in the film Bombshell. She disappeared into that role. I tried to tell her that, but it came out above a whisper; I was a fangirl. It goes back to what I learned in a script interpretation class with Jose Quintero — a brilliant theater director. He said, “The goal of the actor is for the line of dialogue to disappear, and a human being take its place.” That’s what she [Charlize Theron] did. That is the goal. Whenever actors, especially in film, have accomplished this, I am in awe.
As you went along in Misery, did the scenes with you and Jimmy develop more of that?
There was always a separation. When he passed away, I was leaving the memorial service, and I had just seen him at a couple of press things for anniversaries of Misery. His assistant was there at the exit as I was leaving, and he said, “Jimmy wanted to tell you that he always regretted that you guys didn’t get to know each other.” It meant a great deal to me because he was Sonny Corleone in The Godfather! He was in all of these great roles. There is a scene in Misery where Annie stands there, so depressed, saying, “I’m not the movie star type.” I saw that difference between Jimmy and me. I’m not the movie star type; I’ll never be the movie star type.
But you both had a lot of chemistry together on the screen.
It was really hard to find a guy who wanted to be in that vulnerable position, but Rob tried everybody. He tried Redford, he tried, you know… Beatty at one time was gonna do it. Finally, Jimmy said, “Yeah.” It was the worst thing you could ask Jimmy Caan to do because he hates not moving. He knows every sport in the world, and he hated being in bed.
You may not consider yourself a movie star “type”, but you are undeniably a household name. For example, I was in Oklahoma City, and had dinner with the general hotel manager of the hotel where I was staying at. I told her that I was going to be spending some time with you and she was so excited. She noted that in your recent projects, your feminine beauty really came out in those roles.
I really appreciate that. I have lost 100 pounds. It’s taken me a long time to do it, but I have done it slowly, and mindfully. I have never gotten surgery and never want to. What kickstarted the weight loss was my diagnosis of diabetes. My father and grandmother died from it, and my sister is dealing with it now. I was terrified. I found a method of paying attention when I eat: breathing. But I really appreciate her saying that. I was watching episodes of Matlock, and I like the way I look now. I had lost about 75 or 80 lbs. when I shot the pilot. I feel younger and happier.
When you saw the completed version of Misery and Annie breaks Paul Sheldon’s ankle, did you cringe like the rest of us?
No, because I knew how long it took me to get it right. There was no CGI back then. No one knew what the heck CGI was, they used monofilament with fake legs. It took forever to get it right; it was like golf. It was tiring and wearing. My performance horrified me, I thought it was not good acting at all.
I felt like I went out on a limb. It was my first role in a film, I had no idea how to make one or how it was going to come together. I was so naïve. I am still naïve. Rob said that I had the naivety that worked for her [Annie Wilkes]. I left there thinking, ‘I screwed it up.’ I’ve met other actors since then who’ve been nominated for Academy awards, and after seeing their performance for the first time feel like they’ve blown it.
Were you shocked when you were nominated for an Academy Award after the film?
I heard about the nomination while I was shooting the film The Road to Mecca by the great playwright and activist Athol Fugard in South Africa. I was walking across the stage, we were still shooting, and there was a wonderful costumer named Tony Scarano. He worked with George C. Scott for years. Tony said, “Get your Oscar dress ready.” I thought, “Wow!” I didn’t think much about it. But I got home the day before the Oscars, and my husband said, “I don’t think you’re going to win, it’s a very tough field.” [But] I said to him, “I’m going to win.” I had won the Golden Globe award, and I said, “I think I’m going to win.”
Since then, I’ve been nominated three more times and you always think you’re going to win, but then you don’t. (Laughs) I forgot to thank my husband. I never manage to thank the people I should’ve thanked. I should’ve thanked Ryan Murphy when I won my Emmy for Delphine LaLaurie in Coven [American Horror Story] … Huge mistake, I’m terrible at it.
Did winning the award for your portrayal of Annie Wilkes in Misery lead to people recognizing you more often in public?
Yes, but mainly because of the ankle thing more than anything else. That will be my moniker of my career, there is no way to escape it. It was rare to win for horror. The next year, I had the honor of handing Anthony Hopkins his award for Hannibal Lecter.
Were you starstruck at your first Academy Awards show?
No, I wasn’t, oddly enough. I worked with Dustin, and I saw him there, he gave me a big hug, and said, “I voted for you.” Jodie Foster was sitting in front. We had just worked together on a Woody Allen production, Shadows and Fog. After a quick trip to the restroom, I had to wait to go back to my seat and I stood at the top of the ramp with Mrs. Costner, Kevin [Costner’s] mother. That’s when they were showing Dances With Wolves and we just stood there together. Jessica Tandy was there and then Dianne Wiest. We had all come from theater and we’d all won at different times, and I kid you not, at the end of the ceremony, we all stood, the three of us stood and held hands and jumped up and down in our evening gowns laughing and screaming like little girls at a birthday party. We were joyous that we were there. We were all working so hard, in the theater, and we’d made it big in Hollywood. The next day I had my first read through with Jessica for Fried Green Tomatoes
This made me smile: your life now runs parallel to your character in Fried Green Tomatoes (1991).
Yeah, that’s insightful. Evelyn Couch. I loved her name: “Couch.” Then Jessica came along. I loved her.
You grew up in Memphis, Tennessee, and the movie, culturally, takes place in the South. Was that something that connected with you?
Yes, I felt my mother’s roots. She grew up in McCormick, a small town in South Carolina. We ate fried green tomatoes at home. We stayed at this bed and breakfast; the food was incredible. The pace; the slowness, humidity, the water. I remember being in Memphis, and it was that artesian well that my body remembered. The trees, the feel, the people… all of the peace. I felt very much at home. I didn’t feel I had to use that to prepare, I felt like I already knew who she [Evelyn] was.
Fried Green Tomatoes was a different movie for you as an actor. This film had two story lines; when you saw the project, all put together in the end, how did you feel about it?
I loved it. I was filled with joy. Mary Stuart and MaryLouise Parker, and — God rest her — Cicely Tyson. Jessica and I were furious when the film came out, they used us on the poster as the primary people, but we said, “This story is about them, not us!” I laughed, I cried. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a response to a screening that I was in. It was magnificent. I was so proud. If I ever find it on television, I think, “Oh, I’ll just watch a bit.” (Laughs) “A lady always knows when it’s time to leave.” Mary Stuart was brilliant. I am so proud of that film.
I grew up reading Judy Blume books, so I was very excited to hear that they were bringing Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, to the Big Screen, and that you were going to be starring in it. Were you aware of the book or were you introduced to it because of the film?
I was introduced because of the film. My niece, who is many years younger than I am, grew up with them. She adored Judy Blume and was thrilled that I was gonna do it. When those books came out [it] was the Vietnam War,
Watergate… I was starting out my career in New York, so that’s where my focus was. I wasn’t reading young adult books at that time, so I didn’t know her or her work. But she is such a lovely woman.
I loved working on that film. I have to mention Ann Roth, she was in Barbie . I got to work with her again, but I’ve worked with her in many films. I had the most wonderful experience being in her studio: you walk in and there’s this huge 3-way mirror: bras over here, shoes over there, you know, just a weird array of costumes. But they had wigs, which was great. You start to try things on. I said, “I don’t think these are gonna work.” She said, “Just leave them on!” Within a couple of days, there’s your character; you’ve disappeared, you’re no longer in front of the mirror, it’s the character. It’s a phenomenal thing that happens with her. She really helped me find my characters. When you’re a little kid, you say, “Let’s play dress up!” You find the walk in the shoes, and it’s a magnificent experience—we had the best time.
You’ve been very passionate about cancer research. In 2003, you received a diagnosis for ovarian cancer.
Yes, the ovarian was very difficult. I remember Lynn [Redgrave] had breast cancer at the time. I was supposed to do a movie, and it was really cutting it close. I wasn’t fully recovered, but I needed the payday. I remember Lynn had like stage 5 breast cancer, so she was on the downward slope, and I said, “I don’t know whether to do this.” She said, “You have to do this.” I asked, “Why?” She said, “Because your character doesn’t have cancer.” For those 10-12 hours a day I didn’t have cancer, but it was a difficult recovery. I was on the Board of Governors at the Academy, and I had to call them and say, “Look, I can’t, I had nine rounds of chemo.” It was just so difficult. I was originally going to have six rounds and my doctor — who is fantastic — said, “You’re doing so well, I really want you to have another three rounds.” I thought, ‘Oh dear God.’ I would go and get the chemo, and I would pray that they had this fabulous Russian nurse there—he was so handsome. I thought, ‘At least that’s going to make things better if he’s there.’
And then in 2012, another diagnosis but this time for breast cancer.
I’d been directing Six Feet Under, and cancer changed everything. I really fell off the horse. I was coming back from Paris the summer of 2012 and I was going to give a speech about being cancer free at Memorial Sloan Kettering. I hadn’t been feeling well in France—I was just tired all the time. I had a lot of stomach issues, and I thought, ‘It’s the ovarian coming back!’ I got an MRI or CT scan, and I got home, and the phone was ringing, and it was my doctor, and he said, “You have breast cancer.” I said, “Make it a double.” I knew it ran in my family and in my maternal line like a river. I said, “Just take them both.” I was dating a man at the time who had terrible lymphedema in his arm—that’s the only reason I knew anything about it, although my mother had it when she had breast cancer. I didn’t know what it was, I just knew that her arms swelled, and my arms started to swell terribly. I could only wear men’s shirts for a long time, plus, I was very heavy which didn’t help.
That is a lot of very difficult stuff in a short period of time.
Harry’s Law had just been canceled and I really thought that my career was over; I was full of rage. I had these terrible arms, and I had had this breakup with this man. I thought, “If I have to look down and see his arm every day, I’ll go mad.” I went to the best hospital in the world, and they had no idea who to send me to. They helped me with lymphedema and one of the surgeons went online and found Dr. Emily Iker — she is a specialist. She’s a doctor who deals with lymphedema and lymphatic diseases. Through her I met Bill Repicci, who is the CEO of Lymphatic Education and Research Network.
It’s estimated that 10 million people suffer from lymphatic disease — and that’s more than ALS, muscular dystrophy, Parkinson’s, AIDS, and MS combined. In four years of medical school, doctors — I confirmed this with doctors at Harvard — in four years of medical school, doctors spend 15 to 30 minutes on the entire lymphatic system. It’s not on any state licensing exams. People who are suffering this progressive disease go in for help and the doctors have no idea what it is and misdiagnose it. I just met a woman — she’s now in stage 3, she has it in her legs — I was able to get her to Emily. Hopefully she’ll find some relief I told Repicci, “I don’t know anything about being a national spokesperson.” But through the last 10 years, I’ve been able to find a purpose to my life that I never ever dreamed of. That’s what my hope is, and I love to do it. I enjoy making speeches at all of these different research conferences, and to lobby in Washington, to help people. I’ve learned a great deal about it, and I feel a tremendous sense of satisfaction. At least my name did some good in the real world.
You’re in your mid 70s now and you’ve had over 130 amazing roles on stage, film and TV. You’ve been a director, you’re helping to fight cancer, and improve lives when people are sick. How do you want to be remembered, Kathy?
As an artist, I tried. Yes, I had talent, but I worked really hard to develop that talent over the years. It didn’t come easy to me. I always wanted to be the very best that I could be. I tried the best that I could to have a career that taught empathy; to empathize with characters that might not be attractive. I took what God gave me and tried to be the very best I could be at what I love to do, and I tried to be honest.
I’d be grateful just to be remembered.
Check out Kathy in the new CBS drama, Matlock , as she debuts a new character, Madeline “Matty” Matlock every Thursday night at 9PM ET. The show debuted on September 22, 2024, and has already received a great response from critics.
AN UNCONVENTIONAL
By Frank Jastrzembski and Kate Wambui
Opening photograph by Efren Lopez/Route66Images
UNCONVENTIONAL LIFE
In the midst of some truly amazing stops and attractions along the �,��8 miles of highway, one slightly unusual landmark is located in the heart of the Mojave Desert – in the dusty, remote, albeit pretty-sounding town of Newberry Springs. Enveloped by the yawning desert, but sitting only �3� miles east of Los Angeles, Bagdad Cafe has become a sort of pilgrimage for Route 66 enthusiasts and foreigners obsessed with a ��8�s cult film that shares the same name. And if that is not interesting enough, owner Andrea Pruett, is just as colorful as this little café’s history.
In his Pulitzer Prize-winning novel The Grapes of Wrath (1939), author John Steinbeck called iconic Route 66 the “path of a people in flight.” While they may not be fleeing the Great Depression like the fictional Oklahomans in Steinbeck’s book, modern travelers still look to California as a means of escape. Their struggle is not so much of an economic sort as it is a spiritual one. Long stretches of remote highway, bursting red and yellow sunsets, the desert’s endless landscape of brown and beige, the panoramic mountain range, and peculiar sites are all trademarks of road travel on California’s Route 66. The solitude and vastness of the region is therapeutic to its travelers, allowing them to escape from the responsibility and burdens of modern society. Surrounded by long stretches of desert and vast expanses of lonely road, the desert stretch of California’s Mother Road does not disappoint.
Where’s Bagdad?
“I love being on your open roads where there’s nothing but rich fields and flat land,” declared Munich-born, director and writer Percy Adlon during an interview with the Los Angeles Times in May 1988. “It’s where I let all my wounds heal.” Adlon had fallen in love with the vastness and solitude of the Mojave Desert when he first journeyed through southern California with his family on a road trip in 1985, and quickly found the therapeutic qualities of the desert too alluring to ignore. It was on this trip that he saw the word Bagdad on the map and sought to find the town. This search for the desert town, named after a Middle Eastern capital, is what inspired Adlon to shoot his first English-language film in California, two years later.
The town of Bagdad, California, was established in 1883 as a railroad stop. Being 72 miles from Barstow and smack dab in the middle of the desert, it became a thriving hub for the railway and mining companies, sprouting homes, hotels, a post office, the Bagdad Cafe and even a school. At the time, Bagdad, considered the hottest spot in America, had the most populous community between Needles and Barstow. However, by the 1940s, the town’s prosperity, as did its population, declined, leaving but a few homes, the Bagdad Cafe, a gas station and a few cabins that served Route 66 travelers, who in turn, kept the town
alive. With nothing else for miles, the town became a must-stop as a reprieve from overheated vehicles, for gas, and for food and a cold drink at the café. The eatery also became a popular spot for the local desert community who came from all over the Californian vastness to enjoy the only jukebox and dance floor for miles. Then, along came the Interstate, which bypassed the town in 1972, and put the proverbial final nail in Bagdad’s coffin. Route 66, the two-lane highway that had kept the town alive, was largely abandoned. The iconic Bagdad Cafe, which closed by 1968, the motel, and the remaining few structures were vandalized. The town of Bagdad, California, had breathed its last breath. By the time that Adlon and his family were trying to track down the settlement on their map, there was nothing left of the town, nothing to even show that the town once existed. Today, a lone tree, commonly referred to as “The Tree,” marks the spot where the town of Bagdad once was. Other than the faint memories of a few, the desert has reclaimed the rest.
Spot on a Map
On the heels of his unexpected success with the movie Sugarbaby, and the desert happenstance with the ghost town of Bagdad, Adlon was inspired to bring his imaginings of the desert to the Big Screen in the 1987 film, Bagdad Cafe. The picture was based around the real Bagdad Cafe, but was shot at the existing Sidewinder Cafe, in the nearby community of Newberry Springs, some fifty miles to the west from the site of the original café. The movie told the fictional story of a German tourist named Jasmin Münchgstettner (Marianne Sägebrecht) who abandons her husband on the side of the road after their car breaks down and ends up wandering to an isolated roadside diner, motel and gas station in the Mojave Desert that is managed by a black American woman named Brenda (CCH Pounder). Jasmin helps to transform the run-down, neglected, and mismanaged café into a warm, clean, and welcoming place for visitors. Brenda, who is at first resentful and mistrusting of the German woman, comes to respect her for how she boosts the café and for the impression she has on its customers. The café’s unusual customers – a washed-up Hollywood set painter (Jack Palance) and a tattoo artist (Christine Kaufmann) – are captivated with Münchgstettner’s character and hidden talents, which include the ability to do magic tricks.
As questionable as the plot may be, this quirky, feel-good film became a cult classic, with a die-hard following that is alive and well today. The movie even had a CBS network comedy spin-off starring Whoopie Goldberg as Brenda and Jean Stapleton as Jasmin, that ran for 15 episodes before it went off the air in 1991. Pounder, who played Brenda, recalls three decades later why viewers are still
captivated with the picture: “Bagdad Cafe is the only film I’ve experienced that motivated many of the viewers to rise above their fears and take a leap of faith in a dream they wanted to realize,” Pounder said. “I think the contrast of such opposites – black and white, fat and thin, from a cold place, from a hot place, and a motley group of people working together – gave so many hope that their personal desires could be realized, and not from any standard way of doing things! Bagdad somehow gave them permission to dream what’s possible.”
A Young Girl from Arkansas
Andrea Pruett was no stranger to picking up and relocating. She was born on the road. “I was born in Arkansas on the way to Florida. So it doesn’t bother me to travel,” Pruett said. Yet, although born in 1940 in Arkansas, Pruett could not remember the exact city where she was ushered into the world. “My grandfather was a minister. We stopped at his house, and I was born. Two days later we were in Florida.” Andrea’s father wrote country gospel music for a living, causing her and her siblings—two sisters and brother—to regularly pick up and move. The young family traveled throughout Tennessee, Alabama, and Georgia.
Pruett became pregnant with her first son, Corky, at the young age of 15. This was 1955. Pruett married her son’s father, who was in the service, but the marriage didn’t last. The couple split up a short time after. Despite the moralistic undertow of the time, where being a young, single mother was scandalous, Andrea’s family provided a strong network of support. Her mother, Mary, moved in with her in Atlanta, Georgia, to help watch Corky, while Andrea worked at the Domino Lounge, located below the Old Imperial Hotel. “Everybody loved her,” Andrea recalled of her devoted mother. “She was the sweetest, most thoughtful woman in our family.”
One afternoon, while at work, Pruett had an unexpected encounter with one of her customers, a young man who began to flirt with her. “You didn’t go with the customers,” Pruett recalled, but something was special about this charming man. She could not resist him. Her instincts proved right this time and the couple married in 1966. The man’s name was Harold Pruett, a native of Atlanta, Georgia, born in 1939.
Harold’s mother and father had moved up to Alaska, so the newly married couple packed up during Christmas the same year and moved to the Arctic wonderland. They spent nine years in Anchorage, during which time, Andrea’s second son, Harold Jr., was born, in 1969. They then moved back to California in 1975 and spent the next 20 years in Los Angeles. It was different from anywhere they had lived before, and the Pruetts found the scenery majestic.
Desert Laced Serendipity
In 1995, Harold, a nature and wildlife enthusiast, made the potentially odd, but certainly unique, decision that he wanted to raise ostriches, and the couple began searching for a piece of property outside of Hollywood. Besides starting an ostrich farm, Andrea wanted to dedicate time to one of her own passions, writing. The Pruetts intended to purchase 600 acres in Newberry Springs, California, but their plans fell through when they found out that the
plot that they were considering did not have a well on the property, and because it bordered the mountain, water would be hard to obtain. It would be far too expensive to drill for water so they shelved that plan.
Frustrated by the harsh realities of the desert, they stopped at the Sidewinder Cafe to grab a bite to eat before heading home. While there, fate would step into Pruett’s life once again when the couple struck up an unexpected conversation with the café’s owner, Shirley Trueman. Talking over the counter to the couple, Shirley told Harold and Andrea that she was looking to sell the café and move on with her life. “She said that she didn’t want to work anymore, or deal with it anymore,” Andrea recalled. Shirley then told them that there was a movie shot at the venue in 1987 called the Bagdad Cafe. “My husband said, “Oh really,’” Andrea recalled. “And she [Shirley] said, ‘Yes! Jack Palance was in it.’” Palance was one of the most conspicuous actors in film at the time, known for his noteworthy portrayals in 1950s Westerns. “And of course, Harold loved Jack Palance.” Harold bluntly asked Shirley how much she wanted for the café. “He turned around and looked at me, and I said, ‘Don’t you even think about it. I came out here to write.’” Andrea thought the matter was settled but Harold had already been won over.
That evening, on the drive home, Harold continued to rehash the idea of purchasing the café and its two acres. “He knew that I didn’t really want it,” Andrea stated. She had tried working in the restaurant industry at one point in her life, but it left her dissatisfied. “I tried that in Atlanta for a minute and I didn’t like it.” But Harold reasoned that the family that lived next door to them wanted to get out of Los Angeles and could operate the café. “We wouldn’t even have to go down there,” Andrea remembered Harold telling her.
When they returned home, Harold called their son, Harold, Jr., a budding television and film actor, and told him that they had found a place to live in Newberry Springs. He then proceeded to tell his son that the film Bagdad Cafe was shot in the café on the property that he wanted to purchase, but
Andrea and Harold Pruett Sr.
that Andrea didn’t want to do it. Harold, Jr. pleaded with his mother to reconsider. “So they roped me into it,” she said with a laugh.
“Anyway, we bought it, and the people never showed up of course,” she said, referring to the family that was supposed to move there from Los Angeles. “We never owned a restaurant, we owned a nightclub, but we never owned a restaurant. We bought it and changed the name to the Bagdad Cafe. And that’s the beginning of history.” Changing the name from Sidewinder Cafe to Bagdad Cafe to capitalize on the film’s link was the best decision that the Pruetts could have made, as was the decision to leave the café as authentic as it was in the movie.
In 1995, with their arrival, Newberry Springs residents initially resisted the Pruetts taking over the business and changing the name of the little café that they regularly visited on Sundays after church. “I was known as the lady from Hollywood,” Andrea recalled. People are frightened of change. Business was slow in the beginning, but through trial and error they learned how to operate a restaurant business. It took a while for some residents, reluctant to approve of the new owners, to warm up to Andrea and Harold. But with time, they did.
Double Tragedy
Life is nothing if not unpredictable, and Andrea Pruett is no stranger to the pain that rains into our lives at times. Soon after their new journey began, life dealt Pruett not one, but two, devastating blows.
“Our son died. And then two months and 13 days later, my husband died. That was in 2002.” Harold Pruett, Jr. was a rising actor who began his career at the age of five. The young thespian would go on to make appearances in over 30 films and TV series, most notably alongside Sally Field in Sybil (1975), Lucky Chances (1990), and Precious Find (1996). He also guest starred as Cooper Voight in three episodes of the hit TV drama, Party of Five . Tragically, Harold, Jr. died of an accidental drug overdose
and forever altered the trajectory of his family. He was only 32. He is survived by his son, Tanen Pruett, and his wife, Jennifer Cattell.
Affectionately known as “P,” Andrea had helped manage her son’s career and was especially close with him. Soon after his death, Andrea and her husband established the Harold Pruett Drug Abuse Foundation to honor their son’s struggle with narcotics. A stone tablet with his headshot mounted to it was erected at his grave in Hollywood Forever Cemetery, in Hollywood, California.
The French proverb “Un malheur ne vient jamais seul’ (Misfortune never comes alone) held true for Andrea, when two months after the tragic death of her son, pain piled on pain when her beloved Harold died of a heart attack. Maybe it was from a broken heart. He was laid to rest alongside his son. Multiple losses in such a short period of time pose unique challenges for anyone, and for Andrea it did not seem worth living without her husband and son. The cumulative grief was too much to bear. “Everybody wanted me to come back to Hollywood,” Pruett recalled. Her oldest son Corky insisted that she move back to Los Angeles and live with him. She had a tough decision to make: leave the café that she had only reluctantly agreed to buy in the first place, or continue on managing it with an unpredictable future ahead.
“But I got to thinking about it. This was the last place I was with both of them before they died. I decided to buckle in.” And with the decision made, Andrea did her best to try and pick up the pieces and continue on with her life, out in the desert, on her own. But the desert is not only the bearer of death, but of hope and restoration, too.
Suddenly, visitors began to stop by during the summer months, little by little, from the unlikeliest of places, France. Then busloads of French tourists began to show up. Word spread and tourists from Europe arrived in droves to this little café in the Mojave. Pruett now claims that over seventy percent of her customers come from France.
“It’s like it’s calling people to come from all over the world. I’m glad I stayed.”
The Effects of Film
The film Bagdad Cafe was a hit in Europe, especially in France, where it won a César Award in 1989 for Best Foreign Film. Noémie TaylorRosner, a French native working as a journalist in Los Angeles, recalls the impact that the film had in France when she was growing up:
“For me, it was very significant as a child. My parents were big fans of the movie. I think they still have the VHS. I remember children, adults, and my parents listening to the song. It was on the radio everywhere. The movie became kind of a classic for the French. It is something that everybody knows. The French have a particular connection to Route 66. When you talk about the U.S., a lot of French people want to go on road trips.
Henning Motel sign. Photograph courtesy of Robyn Stockwell.
There is also the mythical element of Route 66 and the atmosphere. I think the French love certain ideas of America, such as road trips and the adventurous idea of America. The Bagdad Cafe is pictured in the movie as a lost place in the middle of nowhere, in the desert. [This] is something that is really appealing to French people.”
In the film, Jasmin discovers a new life and reinvents herself in the unlikeliest of places. “Maybe that’s an inspiration for French people to change or reinvent themselves,” Taylor-Rosner mused.
On a road trip to do research for an article on Roswell, New Mexico, Taylor-Rosner decided to stop by and visit the café, to see what the hype was all about for herself. She was captivated by what she encountered. “I was not expecting [to discover] so many French people. The whole place is decorated with all these French souvenirs, police badges from everywhere in France, and different regional flags. You wouldn’t expect that in the middle of California. I talked to a lot of French people there. There were people with their kids, and a lot of young people who were my age in the 1980s, and remembered the movie. They all love that when they go there, they know that they will meet French people in the middle of nowhere. It’s kind of like the movie; they are reproducing their own whimsical universe. It’s become a pilgrimage.”
“Visitors leave notes, pictures, everything,” Andrea stated of the souvenirs left behind by her many foreign visitors. “We have flags hanging from the ceiling. We were so full that we had to put some of them on the walls. We’re totally covered in memorabilia. They always leave stuff. I have one man that sent me this handmade little thing and on one side was the Statue of Liberty and on the other side a monument from France. I almost cried when I saw it. I couldn’t believe somebody did that. I have it up on the wall.”
Going Local
“I heard about it when I got involved in Route 66. I definitely wanted to check it out,” stated Delvin Roy Harbour, passionate member of the California Route 66 Association. “At one point there was a hotel there, when the film was made in 1987. The buildings have since been torn down but the foundations are still there. The sign is still there near the Bagdad Cafe.” The Henning Motel’s original sign continues to attract sign enthusiasts.
“We stopped at the Bagdad Cafe one evening, and sure enough, there was a tour bus there with a bunch of French people. They just loved it. There’s an interesting mystique of it. It’s amazing how, from that movie, the Bagdad Cafe , it’s a highlight for a lot of people, especially French people, to stop there and check it out, to see where the movie was made,” continued Harbour.
Pruett currently lives on a 40-acre property, only a mile and half from the café, that has been blessed with lots of trees and has added raising ostriches to her resumé. She has no plans to leave Newberry Springs in the immediate future. “[Living in the desert] grows on you … It was the last place I was with my son and the last place I was with my husband. I just feel better here,” said Pruett. The café and the desert community is a constant reminder of her late family. “It makes me feel good in my heart that my husband and son evidently made the right decision. People come and they are happy, and I see their face and how they come running to me, ‘Andrea, Andrea, how are you doing?’ They come up to me and hug me.”
These same visitors comforted Andrea after her losses and got her through the rough times. In turn, Pruett has returned the favor to tourists and Route 66 enthusiasts by welcoming them into her establishment with open arms and good old-fashioned southern hospitality. Petite in build, blond-haired with a soft-spoken voice that is laced with traces of a southern drawl, Andrea’s story has become rooted in the colorful history of the building. Her resilience and fortitude to live out hers and her late husband’s dream can only be matched by the fierceness of the desert that she calls home. People come to see her, as much as they come to see the eatery.
In 2008, her dreams to write were realized when she wrote and produced a screenplay titled, “The Real Bagdad Cafe.” Pruett plans to continue to operate the café for as long as she can to honor the memory of her late son and husband. “I just like to keep my memories around me.” The café and its visitors are therapeutic to her, just as Route 66 and the Mojave Desert is to its innumerable road travelers.
Andrea Pruett. Photograph courtesy of Ian Lyons.
THE RA66IT
By Phoebe Billups
David J. Schwartz - Pics On Route 66
Photographs by
RA66IT RANCH
Rich Henry likes to say life on his Ra66it Ranch is a little like a jigsaw puzzle. “I’m still putting pieces together. A guy asked me one time, ‘Will your puzzle ever be finished?’ I said, ‘Yeah, the day that I die.’
Until then, it’s still being put into place.”
Driving the stretch of America’s Main Street that curves along the edge of Rich Henry’s pie-shaped property, the different pieces of the quirky attraction become distinct. A sign at the end of the driveway declares: Henry’s Ra66it Ranch. The name itself is an amalgam of the Ranch’s famous furry residents and its deep connection to the Mother Road. Rabbits frolic around the feet of an eight-foot-tall fiberglass bunny. Inside a perfect replica of an old filling station, visitors sift through Route 66 memorabilia while real bunnies mosey up to demand a little attention. Volkswagen Rabbits are arranged nose-down in the dirt on one side of the property beside Campbell’s 66 Express trailers. One man stands at the center of this hodgepodge of wacky elements. This is Henry’s circus, and he is the ringmaster.
The Ra66it Ranch sits on the outskirts of Staunton, Illinois, where golden prairies and cornfields meet momand-pop shops housed in charming brick buildings. It is one of the small communities that make up southern Illinois Route 66, where Muffler Men, vintage gas stations, turnof-the-century style cafés, quaint town squares, and kitschy buildings loom around every bend in the road, giving rise to a sense of wonder and possibility. The 300 miles of Route 66 that stretch from Chicago to St. Louis boast an astonishing number of one-of-a-kind attractions, and there is perhaps no attraction that packs more of a personal touch than Henry’s Ra66it Ranch.
Henry’s love for the animals is at the heart of the business today, drawing tourists from around the world. However, the first piece of Henry’s vision fell into place in St. Louis in the 1950s, when he was just a starry-eyed kid, riding Route 66 in the cab of his dad’s truck.
Finding Route 66
Rich Henry was born in St. Louis, Missouri, in 1947 to Hubert and Elizabeth Henry. While Henry’s father trucked, his mother raised him and his brother and sister. A woman of deep faith, she sent all of her children to Catholic school, where Rich’s cheeky sense of humor, which delights travelers today, sometimes got him in trouble with the nuns. “One time I said something so [a nun] hit me with a ruler,” Henry said. “I asked her, ‘Can you hit me again?’ The nun looked at me really perplexed. She said, ‘Why?’ I said, ‘That way I’ll have credit, and next time I do something wrong you won’t have to stop class to come and discipline me.’”
From the time that Rich Henry was a tiny tot, he knew that his father hauled freight for Campbell’s 66 Express, driving trucks with the playful company logo. “[Campbell’s Trucking
Company] started the same year as Route 66, 1926,” Henry said. “They lasted one year longer than Route 66, until March 1986. They stood out from the other companies as they went down the road because on both sides of their trailers, they had their service slogan, ‘humpin’ to please.’ In the middle of it, on the trailer, was a painted camel running toward the front.”
At a young age, Rich began riding with his father from St. Louis to Chicago and Oklahoma City, stopping at the little diners and truck stops along his route. As a student at St. Louis University, Henry worked in the Campbell Trucking Company’s office. When he graduated with his teaching degree in January 1969, he had six months before the new school year started, so he earned his trucking license and drove the same parts of Route 66 that he had glimpsed from
the window of his father’s truck. Henry quickly found that he preferred the open road to teaching and kept trucking for them until he took a job as a traffic manager with Tubular Steel in Florison, Missouri, in the mid-1970s.
Often, work brought him to the little farming community of Staunton, Illinois, where the company had a second plant. His ex-wife, Linda, whom he met in 1973, was from rural Edwardsville, Illinois, just thirty minutes north of Staunton. They both fell in love with the friendly town where everybody knew everybody else’s business, hemmed in on all sides by wild prairie. They moved to Staunton in the late 1970s, opting to stay, even after Henry quit Tubular Steel and began running license and title service for the State of Illinois in 1982.
Henry bought the big circular plot of land where the Ra66it Ranch now stands in 1988. However, it was not until 1990 that he discovered Route 66 ran right along one side of his land. “One day, my next-door neighbor was telling me about Route 66,” Henry said. “I thought he was talking about 66 over by Interstate 55. ‘No, no,’ he said, ‘just on the other side of your ground.’ This guy was in his early nineties and he’d lived here his whole life. He finally grabs me by my shirt and takes me over to the ground and stomps his foot there on the piece of road where 66 is. ‘Right here,’ he said, ‘this is Route 66.’ That really got me going on the Route 66 thing. Once my old neighbor Ted told me that, other things started falling into place, like a jigsaw puzzle.”
Rich Henry standing beside his enormous fiberglass rabbit.
Putting the Pieces Together
The idea to open a Route 66 gift shop came to Henry on a 1993 trip to California. Along the way, he searched for Route 66 gift shops and was disappointed to find only about six in total. He began dreaming about opening his own souvenir shop in Staunton. In May 1995, Henry’s Route 66 Emporium became a reality. He opened it in the replica 1950s filling station originally built to hold his rapidly growing collection of Volkswagen Rabbits, a hobby of his and his father’s since 1982.
Henry’s Route 66 Emporium catered to curious travelers passing through the sleepy community. However, Rich always felt the attraction was a little bland, missing a unique element to set it apart from the fast-growing number of gift shops on Route 66. In 1999, a few serendipitous events coincided to show him what that something was. The first, sadly, was his father’s passing in August. “I inherited all of his personal vehicles,” Henry said. “I guess, between him and me, we had way over forty Volkswagen Rabbits.” Those Rabbits now
jut out of the ground on one side of the property, a shining tribute to the quirky Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo, Texas.
Around the same time, Henry and Linda took another trip on Route 66, this time to Delgadillo’s Snow Cap Drive-In in sunbathed Seligman, Arizona. At the historic diner, Henry had the chance to chat with owner Juan Delgadillo and witness his famous sense of humor firsthand. “I should’ve not told him who I was, so I could’ve had some pranks pulled on me,” Henry said. “Juan and I were just talking like regular people, and this young lady came in. She ordered a hot dog. [Juan] asks, ‘Do you want some mustard?’ He gets this squeeze bottle of mustard. As he’s walking back with it, he acts like he stumbles, and the bottle is compressed between him and the counter. It’s aimed right at this lady. All of sudden something’s coming out of the top of the mustard bottle. But it wasn’t mustard. It was a yellow string with a piece of paper at the end.”
Odd touches like dummy knobs on the door charmed Henry. Delgadillo passed away in 2004, but Henry will never forget that life-changing visit. “I could’ve spent a whole day
with the guy just listening to him. It inspired me. If he could do it like that, I could surely turn our thing into something similar with the silliness and quirkiness.”
Henry returned to Illinois bursting with ideas, but first he had a little situation to deal with. In April 1999, Henry’s daughter Emily decided to buy a pet rabbit. She was twenty years old and living in a shoebox apartment about twenty miles from her parents. “It was supposed to be a female,” Henry said. “She went back two weeks later, to the same pet store, to get a second one for companionship. Well, that one was a female. So, two or three months later, she was surprised with a litter of bunny rabbits. She procrastinated and didn’t get the father fixed until after the third litter was born. By that point it was too late because a fourth litter came. [At this time], she also got a cat. So, she’s in this little bitty single bedroom apartment, probably not even 400 square feet, with 14 rabbits and a cat. She’s freaking out, she didn’t know what to do. I went down there and saw it. I said, ‘Emily, I’ll be back in a few days once I get something made. I’m going to take all the bunnies.’”
So, at the end of the summer of 1999, Henry found himself with a bunch of actual bunnies on his hands, in addition to his father’s Volkswagen Rabbits. Inspired by his fateful jaunt to Seligman, Henry took his newly found wealth of rabbits and transformed Henry’s Route 66 Emporium into one of the wackiest attractions on Route 66 Illinois: Henry’s Ra66it Ranch.
Life on the Ranch
After the initial rescue, the rabbit population on Henry’s ranch climbed, peaking at 49 in 2003. Henry, who detested pet stores, made it his mission to adopt as many rescue bunnies as he could. Each rabbit had a unique name and personality, and they all loved Henry as much as he loved them. “It started with a fenced-in area to the southwest of the steel building,” Illinois Route 66 Museum volunteer Jim Jones said. “I’ve been down there several times and there are bunnies all over the place. In the building, Rich has one or two rabbits that will sit on top of the counter. Rabbits are queen or king of the Ra66it Ranch.” The first rabbit to hold the title “Official Route 66 Greeter and Queen of Henry’s Ra66it Ranch” was a little black
bunny named Montana, who was crowned in 2001. In 2008, Montana channeled her popularity into a presidential run. While she and her running mate, a brown bunny named Guy, may not have won votes, they did win the hearts of the hundreds of fans who followed their short-lived campaign online. “Tourists would come in and he’d take a piece of paper and [Montana] would punch it with a rubber stamp,” remembered Illinois Route 66 Association treasurer Marty Blitstein.
While the bunnies are a central piece of Henry’s puzzle, the attractions around them are constantly changing and evolving. Since the 1990s, three Campbell’s 66 Express trailers have joined the growing Volkswagen Rabbit ranch. One of the Rabbits belonged to late Route 66 artist Bob Waldmire. It was given to Henry by Blitstein, who found himself in possession of some of Waldmire’s iconic modified Volkswagens when the artist passed away in 2009.
“I met [Waldmire] and we just had a great friendship,” Blitstein said. “Before he died, I went to see him. He had cancer; he didn’t do anything to stop it. I was there for the majority of the day. As I got ready to leave, I’m not ashamed to say I leaned over and kissed him on the head because he was dying. He put something in my hand. I didn’t see what it was, I was crying. I got outside to my car and opened up my hand. He had given me the key to the bus. I took that as if it was mine to keep.” In the farmhouse where Blitstein found the bus, there was also a Volkswagen Rabbit, which
Rich Henry checking his mail.
Waldmire said should naturally be given to Rich Henry at the Ra66it Ranch.
Foreign travelers on Route 66 delight in the old-timey gas station, spilling over with memorabilia, and its fuzzy mascots. After Pixar’s Cars was released in 2006, traffic only increased. It is not unusual for Henry’s neighbors to stop in for license and title service and find tourists from Japan, Italy, or France swapping stories with him at the counter. In 2012, Henry was even inducted into the Route 66 Hall of Fame at the Route 66 Museum in Pontiac, Illinois, alongside his father Hubert Henry, and the countless other characters that make Illinois Route 66 so unique. “These places open up and whether they’re successful has to do with the personality of the proprietor,” Jones said. “Rich is the driving force behind the Ranch. He’s the reason it’s been there for a very, very long time.”
Hopping Along
Since 2003, Henry has let the rabbit population dwindle, but there are still plenty of ear scratches and cuddles to go around. Gilbert, whose fuzzy face has been featured in Route 66 guides, makes the journey from Henry’s house to the office each day to greet visitors. Montana is buried beside a gazebo on one side of the building along with 63 of Henry’s 67 bunnies.
He can still recall each of their names. “I’m going to make it into a memorial garden,” he said. “I want to call it the Tail of Ears.”
Henry’s Ra66it Ranch is a carnivalesque place, dotted with colorful, eye-catching attractions, but the warmth and nostalgia at its core are surprisingly simple. There is a kind of relaxed happiness that exists between Henry, his rabbits, and the guests who return to this whimsical place again and again. This serendipitous joy is spread across the twists and turns of Illinois 66. “It’s quite a different thing from driving 55, the road Eisenhower built when he decommissioned 66 in 1977,” Blitstein said. “Route 66 never went straight, it was like a snake, coiling back and forth. You drive 55 and you have car trouble, no one will stop and help you. But 60 feet to the east or west [on Route 66], no matter where you are, people will stop.”
Like the Mother Road itself, Rich Henry’s Ra66it Ranch is delightfully nostalgic and, at the same time, filled with surprises and the sense that anything could be around the bend.
Sadly, Richard Mark Henry Sr. (Rich Henry) passed away on Friday, August 16, 2024. His passing has left a void in the Route 66 community, but his spirit lives on through the memories he created and the joy he brought to countless travelers. His Rabbit Ranch remains a testament to his love for Route 66 and his commitment to sharing that love with others.
Headstones in the rabbit cemetery.
Remember when driving was a joy? Back when you drove to escape, to feel that rush of freedom, or to connect with the person across that bucket seat from you. You’d share a smile when that one song came on; the stereo would get turned up, and windows would get rolled down. You can recapture that moment—or find it for the first time—on Route 66. Feel that horsepowered heartbeat that you’ve been missing in America’s Heartland.
CARRYING ON
By Cecil Stehelin
TRADITION
Early in the morning, as the sun begins to rise over the vast central plains of Kansas, Scott Nelson approaches the airy porch of a small red brick building. The first rays of light dance across the petunias and geraniums, spilling over onto an old flatbed cart by the entrance. Nelson unlocks the front door and sets about opening up the shop in the auburn glow, preparing for the morning rush.
“If you’ve been here long enough, you know basically what people need to know — if they have something they need help with,” explained Nelson. “Of course, we have a convenience store on the corner, but it’s like any convenience store. [We’re] kind of unique.”
Nelson’s Old Riverton Store is, indeed, unique. It has been in continuous operation for 94 years and is part of the living history of Route 66. Scott Nelson, the shop’s current namesake, is an upholder of the ancient custom of the family grocer — a time-honored tradition with roots extending to the birth of civilization; a tradition that has almost disappeared from modern America. Today, the shop has changed little from its original 1925 construction, with the daily rituals of preparing the register and stocking the shelves performed under this same roof by a variety of owners over the decades.
This enclave of old America and the small community that surrounds it is the pivot point of Kansas 66. The 13.2 mile stretch of the old road that just barely slices through the southeast corner of the state, the shortest section in all eight Mother Road states, ties it all together. The Old Riverton Store predates the designation of Route 66 by eighteen months. Moreover, the Mother Road would not have passed through Riverton at all if not for the intervention of the ‘Father of the Route’ himself, Cyrus Avery.
Unincorporated Place
When Cyrus Avery was appointed to the Joint Board of Interstate Highways in 1925, Congress was proposing a highway beginning in Virginia Beach, Virginia, using the roads that would become Highway 60, until they reached Springfield, Missouri. From Springfield, a new road would be paved west through Kansas, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada, before turning south towards L.A. Avery, hoping to avoid the expense of building through the Rocky Mountains, was keen to route the national highway through his adopted state of Oklahoma, as Nelson elaborates: “He talked them into routing it through Oklahoma, so then instead of going directly west out of Springfield, they ran southwest through Joplin, and then through the corner of Kansas and Oklahoma. Basically, the part of Oklahoma
where I-44 goes through now is about ten miles south and east of here. It’s really hilly in that area, so there weren’t many roads in that area that were good roads. But if you just come west out of Joplin and go through Kansas, then down through Oklahoma, you know, through that little spot there, [those] roads were existing [ones] as well.”
The town of Galena, named for the rich lead deposits in the area, grew into a prosperous mining town after its founding in 1871. The increased mine activity necessitated improvement of the area’s gravel roads.
“That section of 66 [was paved] by the tailings from the mine,” said Renee Charles, President of the Kansas Route 66 Association. “Baxter Springs was a cow town, [and] between the cattlemen and the mine owners, they wanted to go with black top.”
But Riverton has its own unique story. The community grew from a Dutch Quaker colony known colloquially as Vaark. In 1919, when the first post office was established, the postal service took the liberty of changing their new outpost’s name to Riverton, because, as Nelson noted, “It just sounded nicer.”
Nelson’s father, Forrest Nelson, described Riverton as “Three miles from Galena on one side, and five miles from Baxter on the other side. That’s about nine miles; we all call that Riverton.”
By far the biggest employer in the young community was the Empire Electric District Power Plant that still dominates the eastern bank of the Spring River. Its coal-powered generating unit, nicknamed “Old Kate,” helped power the 1904 World’s Fair in St. Louis. It was brought to Riverton in 1913, powering communities as far as Springfield. Riverton grew from a loose collection of farmsteads and Quaker “Friends” churches into a tight-knit community. Previous
Nelson family photo.
spread: Photograph courtesy of David J. Schwartz – Pics On Route 66.
Photograph courtesy of Scott Nelson.
The Williams Store
Leo D. Williams, born in 1892, got a job at the Riverton plant after returning home from the trenches of WWI. His wife, Lora, born in 1893, saw the need for a grocery store in the town and set up a small stand across from the plant, serving lunch to help supplement her husband’s salary, until, according to Nelson, “[They] found out that [they could] make more money in the grocery business than at the Electric Plant.” Leo Williams quit his job, and the couple became full-time grocers. “The original store that the Williams family built [was] blown away in a tornado in 1923, so they rebuilt in this location,” explained Nelson.
The new location was finished on March 20th, 1925. Built of dark red brick and covered by a tin roof, the enclosed porch faced the highway with a facade of French doors, allowing patrons in the seating area a pleasant view of the Mother Road while they enjoyed their lunch. Sandwiches and the family chili recipe were on offer from the deli as well as barbequed beef and venison from the pit Leo ran behind the shop. The building was split into two parts, with the open eastern section containing the deli and grocery store, while the western section was divided into three rooms that served as the living quarters for the Williams and their daughter, Jane, born in 1929.
“They carried everything you’d expect in an older store in the ‘20s. They carried feed and flour, [and] they carried kerosene and oil — just all your basics,” said Nelson. “They even had a croquet court out there for night-time entertainment.”
The store became the heart of the community, providing essentials like groceries and gas from the pumps out front and serving as a meeting place — whether it be a meal with friends or a croquet tournament. Travelers from both directions poured through the small community, with the Williams Store making considerable trade. From families fleeing drought and unemployment, to tourists seized by the new car fever, to GIs on their way to fight the Axis Powers in the 1940s — all were conducted through Riverton by the Main Street of America.
Forrest Nelson, who served in France, often regaled patrons with his experiences. “I landed in Omaha Beach in ‘44 with the 6th Armored Division. We came in about a month later because they needed 12 miles of space to put three armored divisions on the land.” His unit was part of an Allied assault on the Breton city of Brest, when on: “August 5th, 1944, I remember, definitely five o’clock in the evening, we went down the wrong road, and there the Germans stopped us. Fortunately, they were good paratroopers; they were the top line soldiers, they weren’t junkies. In fact, they could have killed us. There were only five of us. While we were driving, my captain was killed. They did him, they didn’t get the rest of us. So, then they took us into Brest, and we stayed in Brest for six weeks.”
The German division held their ground in the bitter houseto-house fighting, until Allied air-raids razed the city to the ground, as Forrest recalled. “I’m probably the only person left who watched a thousand planes raid on Brest. It was just planes, planes, planes, planes. All you saw was planes.”
After the war, Forrest and his wife Naomi “June” Nelson, moved from Chanute, Kansas, to Riverton, where they raised their five children: David, born 1952, Sara, born in 1955, Steven, born in 1958, Scott, born in 1960 and Jennifer,
born in 1962. Sara, who became Sara Davis after marrying her husband, Jeff, still lives in town and teaches advanced algebra at the high school. She recalls visiting the store when she was only four.
“You were always greeted by name. It’s kind of like [the show] Cheers. Everybody knew your name, and it’s still that way, which is what people like.” In those days, Lora Williams ran the shop alone, Leo having passed away in 1948. Sara remembered her as short, hardy and kind:
“Dad only got paid once a month because he was a school teacher, and he had five kids. We always ran a tab up there, so when he got paid, he went in and paid his bill. She’d always give us kids a sack of penny candy.”
Eisler Brothers’ Old Riverton Store
Riverton was a quiet community with lots of children, and the Nelsons quickly found themselves at home and remained there even after Forrest left Riverton High School for a job in Joplin. “Usually, folks that live in the small towns know more people than people who live in a big city,” speculated Scott. “You just interact more with people in a smaller town.”
Sara Davis remembered, “On snow days, we helped a neighbor get out his Oldsmobile. He’d hook us up with three or four sleds and tow us down to a little incline where we could slide. Of course, now they probably wouldn’t let you do it. They’d say it wouldn’t be safe. But boy, it was a lot of fun.”
Isabel Eisler, who would often visit her sister, June Nelson, in Riverton, was taken by the warmth of the community. She was especially captivated by the shop with the old tin roof and the kind old woman smiling behind the counter. Born in Denison, Texas, on April 26th, 1920, Isabel was a child prodigy with a natural gift for writing and design. In Parsons, Kansas, where she was raised, Isabell wrote articles for the Parsons Sun, and worked as the editor for the school newspaper at her Community College, graduating to become the first female advertising salesperson hired by the Houston Chronicle. It was here that she met her future husband, Joseph Elias Eisler, born in 1923. They married in 1950, and the new Mrs. Eisler quit her career to become a homemaker, giving birth to two sons, Andrew and James.
Joe’s career as an advertising executive saw the family continually moving; from Houston to Chicago to Austin and then back to Chicago, before finally settling back in Parsons in 1973. There Isabel helped her husband form Joseph Eisler Associates, an organization of sales representatives specializing in endoscopic surgical technologies. Lora Williams had sold the Riverton Store in 1970 to her daughter’s mother-in-law, Thelma Ball. By 1973, however, Ball was looking to sell.
Having always loved the shop, and with Parsons only fifty miles from Riverton, Eisler figured that she would be able to run the shop remotely, envisioning the store as a project to be taken over by her sons, now on the cusp of adulthood. Joe and Isabell Eisler bought the Williams Store in 1974 with their cousins, the Nelsons, involved from day one. All five of her nieces and nephews took shifts at the shop and helped the Eislers set up suppliers. As Scott Nelson reminisced: “My brother [David] was traveling around with my cousins when they were setting up merchant deliveries to the store. They kept calling it ‘that old store in Riverton’ or ‘that old
Riverton store,’ and my brother said, ‘Why don’t you just call it that?’”
The shop was duly renamed “The Eisler Brothers Old Riverton Store.” Apart from this, however, nothing else was changed. Isabel Eisler was adamant that everything be maintained, from the wooden floor to the tin roof, taking care to preserve the shop’s quaint appeal. However, her sons did not share her enthusiasm for the shop, so much of the responsibility for running the store fell to her and the Nelson clan. Forrest Nelson often worked the closing shift in the evenings after teaching in Joplin, and the children pitched in when help was needed. It was Scott, however, who would take a special interest in the shop. “He was always drawn to it,” Sara Davis remembered. “He always liked it. He liked talking to people when they came in. He’s been there since he was in middle school practically.”
“My mother always said that she knew if I wasn’t at the house then I’d be down at the store,” laughed Scott. “Sometimes, I’d come in [during] lunch hour and help out between classes. Then, I’d head back to work after school.”
During the ‘80s and ‘90s, Scott Nelson managed the store for his aunt. Route 66 traffic had dwindled considerably since its heyday in the 1950s, but the Riverton Store survived on local trade, its remote location proving instrumental in the store’s permanence. Unlike more developed sections of the highway, where chains of convenience stores and supermarkets choked out the last of the family-owned grocery stores, the small, tight-knit community of Riverton presented little incentive for large corporations to move in. It was during this time that the store became a favorite stop of Route 66 artist and icon Bob Waldmire. “Bob, he was on his own little schedule,” Scott Nelson remembered. “He’d make it here in the middle of the night, then just park out in
the parking lot and camp out; we’d see him the next day. Or he’d just sit on the porch for two to three hours talking or working on his art, just relaxing.”
The store survived the Mother Road’s darkest days until the late 1980s, when Scott began to notice a change.
In 1983, the Rainbow Bridge to the east of Riverton was placed on the National Register of Historic Places. Scott noticed that traffic along the highway gradually began to increase again. “I’d say since 1990, when Michael Wallis’ book came out, Route 66: The Mother Road , I think that’s the catalyst that started to really pick up and take off.”
Renee Charles, who settled in Galena after traveling abroad, remembered being struck by tourists, “Just lying on the road getting their pictures taken, you know, right there in Galena. I was thinking, either these people are crazy, or they really do like Route 66.”
The Nelson family capitalized on this trend by converting the old Williams family living quarters into a souvenir shop and packing it to the brim with Route 66 memorabilia. Soon, the small deli in an unincorporated place had become a destination for travelers the world over, as the highway was reborn.
In 2001, Michael Wallis took a Pixar crew on a tour of Route 66 to help with their research for their seminal 66 flick Cars (2006). The small stretch of Kansas 66 would prove fateful in the film’s development. In Galena, the crew became enamored by an old rusted tow truck abandoned on the side of the highway and photographed it extensively. It became the basis for the friendly but quirky character, Mater, voiced by Larry the Cable Guy. It is now on display by the old Kan-O-Tex Gas station in town. The Pixar crew then stopped by the Old Riverton Store for a sandwich, where they were introduced to Dean Walker, a Riverton local renowned for his ability to twist his feet backward. Walker
Exterior of the store.
Photograph courtesy of David J. Schwartz –Pics On Route 66.
was a significant influence on Mater and the inspiration for the character’s uncanny ability to drive backward.
Nelson’s Old Riverton Store
The Old Riverton Store was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 2003, becoming a protected landmark. Isabell Eisler passed away shortly after in 2006, with her husband Joe following in 2009. Scott Nelson purchased the shop from their estate in 2010 and renamed it once again, dubbing it “Nelson’s Old Riverton Store.”
Almost a hundred years after it was first built, not much has changed in the old shop. This is due, not to complacency, but diligent maintenance and restoration. Nowadays, Isabel Eisler’s insistence that every nook and cranny of the store keep its early 20th-Century mystique has been taken up by The National Register who provide half of any renovation costs. “We can restore the building, but we can’t add anything new to it, it has to be the way it was,” explained Forrest Nelson. “[Scott] wanted to put a new concrete floor in that one building, but they said, ‘No, you’ve got to put a wood floor back.’” Forrest, though he now depends on an oxygen canister, is still a common sight at the store. His smile lights up the crowded shop as he warmly greets every person who crosses the threshold. He is a gregarious soul and loves to meet strangers, especially travelers from overseas. “I visit with them, and we have great conversations. They like to talk to us. They want to find out stuff. They’re very inquisitive, which, you know, if you travel overseas, you’re going to ask questions, too.” Forty-five years later, Forrest is still, as he described it, “just helping out,” coming in weekdays to help balance the books and take his old spot behind the cash register. “I work now because they just want me to get out of the
house a couple hours a day.” Father and son still spend many evenings together, closing up the shop, proudly carrying on the traditions laid down by the Eislers, the Williams and countless families before them.
The Riverton Store’s old bricks have seen nearly a hundred years of continuous operation, cementing it as the heartbeat of the small community of Riverton and a precious jewel of the Mother Road, with roadies from across the country passing through every year. “We see a lot of the tour guides that do the road — they do it several times a year,” recalled Nelson. “I used to have a couple that would come in from Queens, New York. They would buy a calendar every year. They were on their way to visit someone in Arizona, and they’d always swing by on Route 66.”
As the last rays of light disappear beneath the Kansas plains, Scott Nelson finishes ringing through the evening’s last customers. “Some people say [about] living in a small town, ‘It’s so boring!’ But if you’re busy, you never notice that,” mused Scott. After cashing out and sweeping up the shop, he locks the front door behind him, making his way home in the late-evening sun of the Sunflower State. Another day has passed like a drop in a bucket in the town of Riverton; like many days before in the imperturbable community, it was relatively uneventful. And yet, in a world of constant flux, perhaps it’s the places that somehow manage to stay the same that are truly unique.
Forrest R. Nelson, passed away on Wednesday January 27, 2021 at age 98. He is remembered for his unique way of making each visitor feel special, whether they were seeking advice on a local treasure or just stopping by for a friendly chat. His spirit lives on in the stories he shared, and the legacy he left behind at the Old Riverton Store.
The Nelson family. Photograph courtesy of Scott Nelson.
Photograph courtesy of Scott Nelson.
THE CHASE PARK PLAZA ROYAL SONESTA ST. LOUIS
A historic, 100-year young Landmark Hotel located in the heart of St. Louis’ Central West End neighborhood. Often referred to as a “city within the city,” the hotel features three on-site restaurants, a 5-screen movie theater to enjoy new releases, outdoor heated swimming pool, 18,000+ square foot fitness center, barber shop, and so much more. Discover endless options for dining, shopping and entertainment within steps of the hotel. Across the street is Forest Park, home to three museums and the famous Saint Louis Zoo, all of which are free to enter. Additionally, you can find miles of jogging trails, golf courses, a seasonal ice skating rink, and The Muny amphitheater.
LA FONDA’S GIFT SHOP
HF Coors| Pendleton | Nu Peru | Los Poblanos
Santa Fe Spirits | Sandy Vaillancourt | Jan Barboglio
A GREAT TRAVELOUGE PERFECT FOR YOUR BOOK CLUB
“In telling the story of his African family’s journey on Route 66, Brennen Matthews has made an important contribution to the legacy of the highway. He offers both a new voice and a new look at the Mother Road.”
—from the foreword by Michael Wallis, New York Times bestselling author of Route 66: The Mother Road
“An impassioned and engaging road trip along and deep inside Route 66, with a bright, thoughtful guide and his engaging family. If you ever want to travel the Mother Road yourself, it would be a terrific, quirky guide. If you don’t have the time to make that quintessential American drive, the book is as close as you’ll come to experiencing the sheer wonder of it.”
—Stephen Fried, New York Times bestselling author of Appetite for America: Fred Harvey and the Business of Civilizing the Wild West— One Meal at a Time
“Miles to Go fills my heart with the freedom of being back on the road. Reading Brennen Matthews’s story has time traveled my mind to when I drove Route 66 as a teenager and transported me back to all the unique places, the rich characters, and the smell of freedom that only America has to offer. What a joy to feel that once more. Route 66 is the artery of Americana and is now calling my name again. Here I go . . .”—Jim Belushi
Miles to Go is the story of a family from Africa in search of authentic America along the country’s most famous highway, Route 66. Traveling the scenic byway from Illinois to California, they come across a fascinating assortment of historical landmarks, partake in quirky roadside attractions, and meet more than a few colorful characters.
Brennen Matthews, along with his wife and their son, come face-to-face with real America in all of its strange beauty and complicated history as the family explores what many consider to be the pulse of a nation. Their unique perspective on the Main Street of America develops into a true appreciation for what makes America so special. By joining Matthews and his family on their cross-country adventure, readers not only experience firsthand the sights and sounds of the road, but they are also given the opportunity to reflect on American culture and its varied landscapes. Miles to Go is not just a travel story but a tale of hopes, ambitions, and struggles. It is the record of an America as it once was and one that, in some places, still persists.
Visit Amazon.com and order a copy of Miles to Go now and join Brennen Matthews and his family as they set out to discover america along historic Route 66.
