Prairie Ghosts and Root Beer Stands

Across the Fence #508

We had our Hanson cousin’s reunion over the weekend. We are the grandchildren of Oscar and Julia Hanson. When we were growing up, most of us lived within three miles of each other, except for our Indianapolis Hanson cousins. The rest of us were together all the time; for every birthday and every holiday. Now we’re scattered to the four winds, and seldom get to see each other. It was great to spend some time together again, along with kids and grandkids. One scary thought was brought up; at least it’s scary for me. I’m the oldest person at these reunions now. Uff da ney! 

Some of us were talking about how seldom we went out to eat when we were young. It’s not like today when people eat out more than they eat at home. A big outing for all of us was going to the root beer stand.

It was always a treat to go there on a summer evening. It was a reward after working all day and we looked forward to it. The whole family piled into the car and headed for the local drive-in. There was the Wayside Drive-in between Westby and Viroqua, and later there was Perk’s Drive-in on the north edge of Westby. 

When we pulled in, a pretty car-hop in shorts would come to the car and take our order. It seems like we always ordered the same thing, a hot dog and a mug of root beer. Soon she returned with a tray full of cold, frosted glasses of root beer, which she fastened to the open window of the car. I always marveled at how they could balance those trays full of food without dropping them. Our father handed out the mugs and hot dogs and we’d sit there watching the people come and go while enjoying a hot dog and washing it down with a cool root beer. I can taste that hot dog now, as I write about it. It was really a treat when I found out about chili dogs. Think I’ll have to find a root beer stand and order one after I finish this story. 

When we were very young, we had to drink a “baby beer.” I think they came free when you ordered some food with it. When we got older we sat in the back seat and kept an eye on the city kids sitting at the picnic tables alongside the drive-in.

I envied them being able to walk downtown by themselves and not have to be driven to the drive-in by their parents. They were all laughing and having a good time. The boys would be fooling around, trying to impress the girls, but I thought they looked stupid. I think I was just jealous of them. Sometimes I’d recognize some of the girls from my Sunday School class. I hoped they wouldn’t see me sitting in the car with my parents, and I’d slouch down in the back seat of the car so they wouldn’t see me.

As kids, our only mode of transportation on the farm was the bicycle. I guess we could have pedaled our bikes into town to the root beer stand, but we never did. My bike was an old one-speed with fat, balloon tires. The one speed being, as fast as I could pedal it. It was a used Schwinn that Dad bought for $5.00. It was a big, heavy, green machine. The area from the handle bars back to the seat post was enclosed and at one time there was a horn that was supposed to sound when you pressed a button on the side of that panel. I can’t remember it ever working as long as I had the bike. The word Schwinn was written on each side of the panels. It had a headlamp, that at one time had also worked, but I don’t remember the light ever working either. There was a seat rack over the back tire, that was handy for carrying someone when riding double. The balloon tires were great for gravel roads and back pasture cow paths. It had only one speed of course, and to stop the bike, you applied the brakes by reversing the pedaling motion. I thought it was the best bike in the whole world and I could go like the wind over the gravel roads. There were very few places we couldn’t go with our old bikes. 

When our friends rode their bikes with us, we envisioned ourselves as tough Hell’s Angels, roaring down the road on our Harleys. We put baseball cards in the spokes, fastened with clothes pins to make a motor noise. We had some great imaginations. Unfortunately, some of those cards would be worth good money today if we still had them. This was back during the days when the Milwaukee Braves had some great players. 

At least it provided us with some fun adventures as we roamed the countryside as the Prairie Ghosts on our old, clunky bikes, disguised as Harleys. All young kids need a secret club, even farm kids, and we formed the Prairie Ghosts. If we’d been smart, we’d have ridden to the root beer stand and recruited some girls to join our club and ride with us. Darn, too soon old and too late smart!

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