Drive in and hop to it

People just don’t eat in their cars like they used to.

Oh, I don’t doubt that the number of calories packed away behind the wheel is on a steady increase, all it takes is a glance at the mass of McMuffin munchers at any morning stoplight to confirm that. It’s just that people used to eat in their cars primarily when the cars were standing still.

The cafe downtown served pop and hamburgers all year round, but sitting at a table, eating inside, just wasn’t that much different from Mom’s kitchen. But there was something rare and exotic about taking nourishment in the back seat of a 1952 Studebaker.

I guess it’s a generational benchmark -- the people who think of Mac and Don’s as a drive-in versus the young folks who only know about the drive-through. But those of us who’ve patronized both realize that a drive-in is to a drive-through like a white tablecloth restaurant is to, well, fast food. But nowadays the traditional root beer stand – engines revving, carhops scurrying heavy glass mugs on aluminum trays perched precariously on a half-rolled down window – are an endangered species. A rare summertime treat, like fresh picked sweet corn or strawberries sweet from the garden.

Actually though, if it wasn’t for the old fashioned drive-in, there wouldn’t be fast food. It took a generation’s worth of getting used to eating food not served on a plate before a nation that grew strong on meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy got a break today, had it their way, and started  heading for the border in search of chicken done right.

Mom had it right better than 50 years ago when she complained bitterly about the lack of carhops at the that new drive-in in La Crosse. She didn’t care that the hamburgers were only 15¢ (“They’re pretty puny hamburgers and they don’t give ya much for ketchup.”), she was of the unshakable opinion that if a place wanted her business, the least they could do is send somebody out to take her order.

McDonalds would have been out of business if it had been up to my mother.

Mom was a fan, a very critical fan, of the traditional drive-in. From her place in the front passenger seat she was quick to comment of which of the high school age tray-toters where earning their wage, and which were just there to yak with their boyfriends.

She could tell you which stand gave a full order of fries and which one was so cheap they stretched the ketchup with water and vinegar. Mom kept tabs on how big the napkins were, who served instant coffee and which places let the teenagers get away with using bad language when little kids were around to hear.

As a little kid, I wasn’t nearly so fussy. All I knew was that A&W had the best root beer and if I was really lucky, and if I didn’t hit brother Kevin even once, there was an outside chance Dad would spring for a cone to keep me quiet on the ride home.

With age, came an allowance and a bicycle and my buddies and I became the big kids with the bad mouths that Mom was still put out about. It was leaning on the orange painted counter in front of the sliding screen window, I learned my first lessons in comparative economics.

It was a rather bemused, but slightly put out employee who settled the issue between Mick Sheehan and me. Before our eyes she poured water from mug to mug to prove, once and for all, that the dime root beer couldn’t hold two full nickel mugs. I proved bigger wasn’t always better, but Mick reneged on the bet.

When Schwinn gave way to Chevy as the preferred mode of transportation and we could actually drive-in, root beer took a distant second place as the stand’s prime attraction.

Every guy without a steady girl knew when the shifts changed, and business surged as pimply-faced gallants competed to give the weary workforce a ride -- preferably by a very indirect route -- home.

And it was a summer thing. Born in the first soft night of spring and vanishing with the first frosts of fall. It gave burger grease and soda pop the panache of a summer romance that vanished with indoor seating and year-round service.

Drive in nowadays and odds are the best you get is an LED menu board and a loud speaker. It’s just no fun to flirt with plexiglass and electronics.

Is it any wonder that all we do is drive on through?