When I was a kid, I’d often travel with my folks through Kingdom City, Missouri. It was just 17 miles down the road from my hometown.   There really was no “city” at the junction of US Hwy 54 and old Hwy 40, later Interstate 70.   And no “Kingdom” either, though the name does harken back to the days of “the Kingdom of Callaway”.  That’s another story.

So there was no real city, but there was a bus stop, several gas stations, and a souvenir shop or two (Ozarkland!).  The busiest and probably best restaurant/truck stop at that junction for many years was Gasper’s. Not the “new” Gasper’s with the giant Shell station, and a cookie-cutter restaurant, but the “Old” Gasper’s.  The “Old” Gasper’s was really top-notch restaurant/diner/truck-stop.  They had the counter up front, with the stools where truck drivers sat and sipped coffee and ate a hot meal. They had the main restaurant with booths, bright lights, tile floor, and a lot of hubbub, hustle & bustle. But if you wanted something a bit more upscale (though there was no such word as “upscale” in the 50’s and 60’s), they had the “back room”…  or as I thought of it, the “fancy” dining room. Tables, no booths. And with tablecloths! Lower lighting. Limited seating.  Just a little bit quieter.  Curtains on the windows, not the blinds like out front. Carpet. Wood paneling. This was a place where on Sundays you’d see families still in their church clothes.

One trucker, writing about Gasper’s said this:

“Old school” was Gasper’s Truck Stop in Kingdom City, MO. The driver’s section was just what the name implied, drivers only. There could be a line out the door waiting to be served. People would point to an empty table and Mrs. Gasper would say, “One of MY drivers will be here shortly needing a place to eat.”

Many years ago I fueled at Gasper’s, parked and went inside. Enjoyed a great supper – those carrots cooked in cherry juice – superartabumfistical. Filled old Stanley, paid for my meal and hit the road. I got way into Illinois and realized I didn’t pay my fuel bill. Could not find a phone fast enough – no cell phones in those days. Called Gasper’s and told them what happened. “Not to worry” was the reply. “Your ticket is on the board; we’ll see you next week.” Try that today.

So as a kid, yes, I went through Kingdom City with my folks a lot. And I mean a LOT. There was a time when it seemed like we stopped at Gasper’s once a week. Whether going to “Jeff” (Jefferson City, our state capitol), or Fulton or Columbia, or to visit my Aunt and Uncle, or my Pa Pa Shouse, the road South (and back home again) took us through Kingdom City.

It got to be a ritual that if we were close to Kingdom City ANYWHERE close to meal time, my mom and dad would look at each other, and one of them would ask, “Gasper’s?” And more often than not, the answer was an enthusiastic “Sure!”

If we ate out front (which was seldom), I’d get a burger and fries, or a bowl of chili.  However, we often ate in the back, in the “fancy” dining room.  In there,  nothing would do but to turn to the “grown-up” section of the menu where you could choose your entree, and three “vegetables” from a long list. I put “vegetables” in quotes, because there was a LOT of stuff on that list that didn’t really qualify as vegetable. Jello salad. Mac ‘n Cheese. Fruit Cocktail. Banana Pudding. You know… “vegetables”.

And on each table was one of these baskets.  A woven wire basket, black and gold, filled to overflowing with individually wrapped cellophane packages of crackers. I’d dig in that basket, right past the “ordinary” saltines and club crackers, and make my way to three delicacies…. Melba Toasts, Euphrates Sesame Crackers, or Bread Sticks.  Melba was easily my favorite.   mmmmmmm.

As we sat waiting to order or for our food, many times somebody that my parents knew, either from Mexico or from Callaway County or even Boone would stop by the table to have a little chat.  At some point they would look at me, as if surprised by my sudden appearance, and ask, “Now who’s THIS young man? My goodness he’s grown!” The adults would all chuckle.  Yep, that’s me, the amazing growing Shouse boy.

Perusing the menu as a formality, when the waitress came around, I always… ALWAYS … chose the same thing. Breaded & Fried Pork Tenderloin with mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, and cottage cheese. Cottage cheese!  Another of the non-vegetable vegetables. The waitress wold always ask, not looking up from her pad where she was jotting down the orders in her own special shorthand, “Gravy on your Tenderloin?” “Yes please, brown gravy, same as on the potatoes.” I had learned to be very specific, because of that one trip where the brought it out and I found brown gravy on my potatoes, but WHITE gravy on my tenderloin. HELLO???? Who the hell worked back there in the kitchen that day?  Where the travesty of TWO kinds of gravy on one plate seemed like a good idea? Ack.   ONE kind of gravy at a time, please.

Then, in addition to that usual order I’d ALSO order a side salad with no dressing. Hearing my order, the waitress would look up from her pad for the first time …. just to make sure she’d heard me right.  She’d look a bit surprised and ask “no dressing?”.  I’d say, “That’s right, no dressing.”

After a bit of a wait, she would bring out my salad, and usually one for my mom too.  Dad was not much of a salad guy.  It was mostly just lettuce, but with some purple cabbage, maybe a radish slice or two, and a tomato wedge as garnish.  But I wouldn’t touch it. Except for the tomato. I always ate the tomato first. But I saved the rest.

When the rest of the food came, first order of business was to take my little bowl of cottage cheese (vegetable) and dump it in with my salad. Then I’d proceed to eat that mixture, alongside the rest of the meal, with my beloved Melba Toast! mmmmm. I’m not sure why, but somehow this made me feel pretty Cosmopolitan.   At those rare places today that have fully-stocked salad bars, I actually STILL make a pretty simple salad, no dressing, and put a healthy scoop or two of cottage cheese on top.

After the meal was over, the waitress would come around and ask, sort of as a formality, “Anybody up for dessert?” My folks would often decline, although dad would sometimes  order a piece of pie or cobbler.  They would all look at me though, and I’d say, “Yes please.  Coconut Cream Pie”.    When I ordered a piece of Coconut Cream Pie, it was the secret code signal for my dad to say, “And next time you’re coming back this way, how about warming up my coffee?”.   Not,  “I’ll have more coffee.”   but “How about warming up my coffee.”  I guess it must have stuck with me.  I still ask waitresses in diners and breakfast places to “warm up my coffee.”    Back at Gasper’s …. if by chance it was one of those rare occasions they were OUT of Coconut Cream Pie, I’d just say…”In that case, I won’t have any dessert, thank you.”.

Yes, I was a peculiar boy. I think I may have grown out of it though.  The peculiarities.   You know, I am (after all) the amazing growing Shouse boy.

So here I am, wishing for one of those black and gold wire-woven baskets to dig through. For Melba Toast, and cottage cheese in my salad. Tenderloin and potatoes with ONE kind of gravy. And a big slice of Coconut Cream Pie.

Mostly though, I’m wishing I had one more chance to have my mom and dad look at each other and ask, “Gasper’s?”. And for the blissful hour spent with them at one of the best truck stops ever.

In the FANCY dining room.

love,
John