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Casual is my style and always has been. My mother took great pains when I was growing up to make me look like a sweet little girl and a lovely young lady, but I was always for kicking off those dresses and getting into something more comfortable. But I do appreciate her efforts and I can dress up if I want to.

I was thinking about this when I was going out to dinner with my three grandsons the other night. They are 15-16 and really nice kids, dress like their age. One of them had on a tank top and the rest of us had on t-shirts, all in shorts and sandals of some kind. I may have been wearing a pair of TOM’s shoes since I love those. From old habit, I looked us over to see where we could go eat and then decided it didn’t really matter. We could go just about everywhere looking like we did. We could probably even go to church, although the tank top might have to be changed. But the tank top came from church camp, so whatever…

We’re a far cry from the way I grew up. Lifestyles have changed over the past decades to the place where just about anything goes. You may see an occasional sign at a restaurant that say you must have shoes and a shirt, but that’s about it. Jeans are acceptable everywhere except some country clubs and even they make exceptions all the time. After all, how do you differentiate between jeans you work in the yard in and your $100+ designer jeans and who is going to tell someone their jeans aren’t nice enough? I’ve even seen jeans in church at funerals and weddings, not to mention regular worship services. Ministers got to the point that they just wanted people in the pews and they weren’t going to quibble about what they were wearing.

Hats are another thing. My grandfather wore a hat always, but he removed it in the house or at dinner or church. Everyone, men, women, kids, wears ballcaps now and few remove them very often. Hat Head is the excuse. They still remove them for the National Anthem and in church. That’s about it. Sometimes in restaurants, very fancy ones!

At times in my life, we didn’t go out without little white gloves. I can remember having white white white cotton gloves, probably bleached clean by my mother, to wear when I went shopping downtown or to luncheons with my friends when we had dressy parties. As I got older, I advanced to kid leather gloves, even my favorite red ones to go with the white. All our mothers were trying to teach us social graces. I don’t remember when it ended but here’s a picture of me getting ready to be interviewed for a beauty (Hah!) contest at OSU when I was a sophomore in 1964. Note the white gloves! Very proper!

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When I was little, we dressed up for luncheons and shopping downtown or plays or concerts or dinner in a nice restaurant. When I was in college, we dressed up for football games. Really. We wore skirts and sweaters to the games, no matter how cold it was. We wore skirts to class, too! On snowy days, we would put some slack under our skirts so we wouldn’t freeze walking across campus. Quite the fashion statement. Oh! We also wore hose, held up by girdles or garter belts, although my mother didn’t think those were very proper. I wore a girdle when I weighed barely 100 pounds and had no stomach. No wonder I laugh at Spanx today! Been there, done that and not doing it again. Ever!

The 60s started the changes. I can remember teaching at OSU when the mini skirts came in and realizing you could stand at the front of the classroom and look right up every girl’s skirt. As the skirts got shorter, the rules relaxed and you could wear pants and then jeans. Fashions changed rapidly through the 60s and 70s and we were the generation that lived it, even as we married and raised families.

We still dressed up to ride planes (heels and all), go to church, go to concerts, out to dinner. The gloves were gone, but you dressed up. The guys put on shirts, jackets and ties and the women wore hose and heels and skirts and makeup and had their hair done. There were social rules you had to follow after all.

I remember a date specifically that I began to realize that the casualness I loved was permeating maybe too far. On our 25th wedding anniversary, my husband took me out to a very nice restaurant. We ordered champagne and a lovely expensive dinner. We were dressed up nicely for this special occasion in our lives. When I noticed that the guy next to us was wearing jeans, nice jeans, with his tie and jacket, I thought to myself that there really was nowhere you could dress up for a special night out. He didn’t spoil our evening, but it was jarring in a place where everyone else was pretty spiffy that evening. And, remember how casual I am, so it’s interesting that those social dos and don’ts were so ingrained in me that I even noticed it, much less remember it all these years later.

There are practical reasons for everything, of course. It was expensive to have entire dressy outfits for our four children and I am amazed at the price of my huge grandsons’ shoes alone. They can’t afford to have very many styles since their feet seem to be endlessly growing. At least one of them is past a 13 adult size now which equates to expensive.

Another time, almost twenty years ago, some friends of mine met for lunch at a retirement home where one of us was working as a development officer. It was a lovely place and we dressed appropriately, but we didn’t match the lovely women who lived there and came to lunch dressed like the ladies they were. They had their makeup on and wore suits (jacket, blouse and skirt) and dresses and hose and maybe even girdles and carried their handbags on their arms like Queen Elizabeth. At the time, I remarked that our generation would probably come to lunch in sweat suits. Lordy!

So, here I sit in yoga shorts and a t-shirt, which I may wear all day no matter where I go. Or I may dress up, which implies I put on leggings and a nice top and nicer sandals. That garb would work where I live even if I had to go to a concert or church. Adding earrings and a necklace or scarf would really make it pretty impressive. All about the accessories. A guy probably would put on a nicer shirt and pressed shorts…maybe.

I don’t know that I am complaining about the changes…just making a mental note. I don’t want to forget how to dress up because there are a few times left that I might need to. After all the Queen might summon me. And I still have a box of gloves to wear…

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Today was one of those days that you just need to get out of the house – at least I did.  It was sunny and in the 40s in January and that was enough to get me out of my pajamas on a lazy day.  Enough of this recuperating.  Heading west on Route 66 seemed easy enough – follow the Mother Road the way we used to when I was a kid, before the turnpike sped us along.

I’d been wanting to go to the Rock Cafe in Stroud.  I’d seen it on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives with Guy Fieri, heard about it, read about the fire and the rebuilding and the original grill and its influence on the movie “Cars.”  I also knew it was up for sale and figured I’d better see it soon – who knows what will happen.

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If you take Route 66, you look for the signs of the old 66, the little concrete road that runs parallel to the newer road, and imagine what it must have been like to drive when it first opened.  It’s narrow, hard to imagine what you did when you met another car coming at you.  They didn’t go very fast, compared to today, but Americans drove across the country, passing through Oklahoma on their way from Chicago to Los Angeles.  It was definitely an adventure in those days.

My family used to drive it almost every week, heading to Oklahoma City to see my grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins.  I mostly remember driving back at night in the dark, sleeping on the floor of the car, listening to the radio.  The turnpike was a godsend for those of us who made the trip often, but I realize what it did to the little towns.

Anyway, today I looked for remnants of what it must have looked like, traveling along that concrete road.  We saw a few of the old, old motels…amazingly some are still in use.  By the time my friend and I were in Stroud, it was almost three in the afternoon.  There were no cars at the Rock Cafe and we went in for a late, late lunch.  To my horror, after we ordered, I remembered they close at three.  They were waiting to leave when we got there, but they didn’t admit it or turn us away.  I’ll give them credit for that, because the service was begrudging and the food was no more than mediocre.  I can also imagine it’s more interesting with more customers.  I will say the bathrooms are interesting – every inch of the rooms covered in graffiti, even the toilet seats.  They’re clean…just covered with messages from folks who’ve stopped by.

So check off another place on my never-ending list of places I’d like to see.  Not every adventure has to be perfect.  It’s the going that counts.

 

 

 

I must be starving for hamburgers.  There are lots of great hamburgers in the world and we’re lucky to still have some of the ones I grew up with here in Tulsa.  They’re probably still my favorites, maybe because they come with a side order of memories.

Van’s was great, but Van sold his location on Peoria to Claud’s long ago.  It’s nice to know he was passing it along and it still is owned by the family.  I love the tiny space where you can watch the whole operation while you wait.  Nice to get a bag of burgers and fries just like the old days.

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Across the street is Weber’s with its unique history.  Dating back to the 1890s, Mr. Weber made his own root beer and invented the burger.  That fact was validated by the governor of Oklahoma and I love the fact that it’s still owned by the family and they use the same grill he used way back when.  They still make their root beer and their onion rings are awesome.  That little orange building has moved a few spaces since I was a kid, but it’s a welcome sight…gives me sense of stability to see those two families still in business at 38th and Peoria after all these years.

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Hank’s goes back even further, 1949.  Nothing has changed in there, for sure.  Still a great burger, great fries and a malt like I remember them.  Way out on Admiral, but fun for an occasional fix.

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My husband was a big fan of the original Ron’s on 15th.  He would head over there on Saturdays to pick up his burger with chili.  I miss the little diner, but at least we can get the burgers at all the locations now.

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I discovered Ted’s, over on Edison, many years ago while doing volunteer work in the area.  Great hamburgers.

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Brownie’s started as root beer stand, according to a friend who lived in the area when we were kids.  It became a hamburger and root beer place way back when.  My husband and I spent many a weekend lunch or dinner in there.  We loved the staff that had been there forever, the atmosphere with all the little toys on the shelf, pictures of customer’s children lining the check-out and the food.  When Brownie died, it floundered a little, but a young couple bought it and it’s as good as ever.  My favorites are the hamburger and fries with a frosty mug of milk.  And the pies…I try to resist the chocolate meringue but that’s always a weakness of mine.  They make a lot of pies and they even have a food truck now.

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And then there’s Goldies.  It first opened as Goldies Patio Grill at 51st and Lewis with a par three golf course adjoining.  My dad was invited to the opening and set the first course record.  Their steak is a great bargain, but it’s the hamburgers, the Goldies Special being my favorite.  Whatever the secret spices they use are, you can’t mistake that flavor.  The quality has been consistently terrific through the years.  I forgo the fries and get the slaw, unique for it’s creamy dressing.  And there are the pickles.  Where else do you get a pickle bar?  Where else do you sit and munch on a bowl of pickles while you wait for your order?

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I guess that’s my tour of my favorite local burgers with memories fried in.  There are lots of great burgers, but I like mine the way I remember them.  Who knows how long these places will be around…I’m going to start taking my grandkids.  A little Tulsa history with a yummy burger thrown in.

 

 

On my list of things to have with me on a desert island are hamburgers – not the most practical or healthy choice.  Hamburgers are comfort food, loaded with memories.

When my grandmother would stay with us, she would cook hamburgers and make french fries.  We would get little cups of ketchup, just like going out.

The first hamburger place I really remember was Van’s.  They had more than one location eventually, but the one I loved was on 15th Street, east of Lewis.

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On special Saturday nights, I could go to Van’s with my Daddy.  We stood in line, waiting for our order, listening to the waitress with her droning question, “do you want onions on that?” The guy who cooked the hamburgers was an artist with his spatula.  He had long dark hair, combed back under his hat.  Watching him take a ball of ground beef and throw it on the well used griddle, where he proceeded to flatten it, shape it and turn it, was an endless fascination.  He worked like lightning with skills that I still admire.  When they were done, the burgers were wrapped in wax paper and the fries were placed in the little paper envelope.  Riding home with that greasy brown bag of burgers makes me drool even now.

But Pennington’s was the place where memories of the food mingle with all kinds of rites of growing up.  Pennington’s Drive-In Restaurant was on Peoria and was the heart of my life for many years.

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I started going there with my parents, but caught on easily that this was a cool place to be.  We would order our hamburger in a basket with either onion rings (Pennington’s were uniquely thin and delicious) or fries.  Whoever invented the basket for hamburgers deserves a place in museums of industrial design.  Those colorful plastic baskets have never been improved on for ease while eating in the car.  Our order would come with a stack of baskets of chicken, burgers, shrimp or any of Pennington’s favorites.  Early on, the carhops were on roller skates, when that was the newest thing.

As I grew into junior high, Pennington’s became the hangout for Tulsa’s teens.  When you’re not quite teen-aged, it was embarrassing to be there with your parents.  Soc Row was the middle row, with pole position being the spot at the end near the restaurant.  Here you could wave and honk at your friends as they cruised through, looking for a parking place and everyone could see that you were there.  I confess that Daddy thought this was hilarious and I can remember him parking in the prime place, yelling “Whee” as the teenaged girls giggled by.  I, of course, was sitting on the floor of the car, mortified and sure that my future life was ruined.  Daddy, Daddy.  Silly Daddy.

This was my home away from home all the way through high school.  We raced to get there and back on our 30 minute lunch hour.  If I ran an errand for my mother after school, it involved picking up a friend and stopping at Pennington’s.  We went on dates that began or ended there, we piled in cars after football games to drive through, honking our school honk.  We decorated our parents’ cars with our social club colors and drove through during our annual rush of new pledges.  In the summer, we cruised Peoria in the evenings, looping through Pennington’s as we searched for our other cruising friends.  It was where you could see who was with who and you could be seen.  Reputations were made there!

We knew the Penningtons, Arch and Lola, and could see them inside behind the counter.  Sherry was everyone’s favorite carhop and I’m sure she got more than her share of cocky teenaged boys trying to show her how grown up they were.  We weren’t allowed to get out of our cars, for fear of being approached by Jake, the security guard.  It was a time when we listened to the rules, although some tried to push him to his limits.

Pennington’s had great food, but my hamburgers, dinner rolls, vanilla Dr. Peppers, black bottom pie and onion rings are interwoven with the memories of first dates, special dates, cruising through with cars full of friends just to see who was there or who could see us, and, even the times with my parents.  I miss the old places…

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