On the south side of I-10 East about 20 miles, this side of Beaumont sits a forlorn Stuckey’s Restaurant. It was a welcoming sight an hour into my 2018 road trip. I got an odd hankering for a Pecan Log or some pecan divinity. But I also feel a quiet shiver of the dark side of Stuckey’s.
Before McDonald’s, there was Stuckey’s
Long before 7-11 and Circle K, way before McDonalds and Waffle House, if you were crossing the country by car, Stuckey’s was an oasis for traveling families.
In 1937, W. S. Stuckey of Georgia expanded his lean-to roadside pecan stand to a building. Business was increasing, driven by his wife Ethel’s pecan candies. Morphing into a restaurant with gas pumps, the teal blue metal roofs were as recognizable to us baby boomers as today’s golden arches are to millennials.
By 1960, over 300 Stuckey’s sat on major highways across the South, Southwest, and Midwest. Many were in the path of our multiple California-to-North Carolina and back to California relocations.
Parenting Stuckey’s Style
Much of my father and mother’s road trip parenting style, tempered by my grumpy live-in granddaddy, was aided by Stuckey’s. If my little brother Bryan and I were squabbling in the cargo area of our blue Chevy 2 station wagon, my father would first try reasoning with us.
“Only 15 minutes to Stuckey’s in Falkville,” he’d say. Stuckey’s seemed to always live in weirdly named towns; Arkadelphia or Italy, Texas or Paxico, Kansas.
My brother and I would retreat to the wheel well on our respective sides and stare out the back window, covertly watching each other’s moves. I’ve seen dogs give each other this same strained side-eyed look just before they erupt into a fight. Same for Bryan and Bryan after about five minutes of peace.
Bribes only worked for a little while
Next Dad would bribe us. “Linda and Bryan! Just behave ten more minutes, and we’ll get you a…” The carrot was whatever we were most passionate about at that moment. Maybe a pecan roll or more likely, some toy or novelty – a Davy Crockett coonskin hat, a Lone Ranger mask, or the ultimate score – a real live baby alligator!
Whatever it was, we’d be fighting over it an hour or so after we left Stuckey’s, but my dad was into triaging the problem at hand. The bribe worked…for another five minutes and then all hell would break loose again in the cargo compartment.
“HE TOUCHED ME!!!!” I’d scream in that high scratchy scream only girls can manage.
Time for the paddle!
“Give me the paddle, John Henry,” Granddaddy would holler. “NO, Granddaddy, no, please! We’ll be good,” Bryan and I would sing in a united effort to protect our bottoms.
The paddle was a cutesy knick-knack that Stuckey’s also sold. It looked like a skinny cutting board with a handle. It was painted with happy, Disneyesque animals – a “Bambi-ish” deer and a tubby little bear cub.
But it terrified us kids because of the words engraved in its wood grain. “For the little dear with the bare behind!” I now know old people love that kind of crap, but to us then, it meant the gloves were off.
Deadly Aim
From his place in Chevy’s back seat, Granddaddy’s aim and reach were deadlier. Plus, he wasn’t distracted by trying to keep the station wagon on the road.
“Which one of you wants it first?” he growled. Suddenly my brother and I were loving siblings. You’d have thought we’d be all over ourselves offering up each other.
“Oh, please, paddle Bryan first, I insist.” Instead, we’d make excuses for each other. “He didn’t do it on purpose!” “She didn’t mean it” we cried.
Mom weighs in with the ultimate threat
By that time, we’d be pulling into Stuckey’s and my mother would stop the chaos with the ultimate admonition for families clawing their way into the middle class. “Stop it! People will think we’re a bunch of Okies.”
And with that threat, calm descended. We’d all get out of the car. The adults stepped out primly from their open doors. My brother and I climbed out over the Chevy’s lift gate.
We’d straighten our clothes, brush off crumbs and walk nicely into Stuckey’s. The model American family out for a nice 2,600-mile drive.
How did your parents keep the peace on road trips?
I’d love to hear from you!
