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Chesty Foods, the maker of potato chips could make your mouth water for a two mile circumference from their vats of freshly cooked, delicately crisp products. I remember pulling in a big breath as our car drove by and wishing I could have one of those chips fresh and warm and tasty. Continue reading A “Scent” For Your Thoughts By Darla McCammon By Jane Gallagher  Rotary Phone I wonder what Alexander Graham Bell would be thinking if he could see how far his little invention has come since he hollered in Watson’s ear way back when. I think his intention was to be able to make communication between people a little easier; no more Morse code, smoke signals, telegraph boys on those pesky bicycles, or notes delivering important news arriving my mail three weeks after the incident. Wouldn’t he be surprised to sit in the movie theatre and see the ads showing the young teens holding a phone to their ears while dancing at the dinner table? He would probably think they were a little “off” because there wasn’t even a phone line connecting the receiver to anything! A ride in an air-conditioned car would amaze him enough, but if he looked out of the window, he would be confused about all of the people talking to themselves as they drive. I would understand a little about how he feels. Two former Gerstmeyer Tech and ISU graduates are contributing to the world of sports in other areas of the country.
 Steve Newton Steve Newton will be inducted into the Murray State, Kentucky Athletic Hall of Fame at a banquet and induction ceremoney on Friday, February 5, 2010. Steve was a head basketball coach at Murray State for several years and led the team into the NCAA Division I tournament. Steve has retired as a coach and currently resides in Sarasota, Florida with his wife Kathy. Frank Jozsa authored “Major League Baseball Expansions and Relocations: A History, 1876-2008.” The book will be officially published by McFarland & Company in April 2010. This is Frank’s eighth book on professional sports. In 2007, Professor Jozsa retired from teaching economics and business administration at Pfeiffer University in Charlotte, North Carolina.
By Darla McCammon. To learn about Darla, go to the ABOUT tab or click here. Having grown up in Terre Haute and then living twenty years in the Los Angeles basin and the surfing capital of the world, Huntington Beach, California, I can tell you that the west coast has nothing on Terre Haute when it comes to great food. I can’t imagine how they have survived without one of the best meals in the world. If you stop someone on the boardwalk along the beach in California and ask them where to find a good Tenderloin Sandwich, you will receive a blank stare followed by the question, “A what? What’s a Tenderloin?”  Tenderloin Sandwich (Click for larger view) Most parts of this expansive nation have not had the joy of discovering this delectable treat that is prevalent in the Midwest. Oh, New Yawkers will tell you they eat tenderloin, but they are referring to a cut of meat, not a sandwich. They are woefully ignorant of the bliss experienced when biting down on a warm breaded tenderloin sandwich, slightly crisp on the outside with a tender slightly softer inside. This sandwich is well known only in the Midwest and has been a familiar and loved meal to Terre Haute residents from as far back as the late fifties and sixties and perhaps earlier. By Paul Hartzler Jr. I was born in Terre Haute in the early 1960’s and spent the first eight years of my life living in the city, but later my father moved us to East Glenn in eastern Vigo County. My father was older, he was 54 when I was born and had a lot of life experience. With age came patience, which was needed with a German blooded stubborn child such as me.  Burger Chef in 1968 Those first eight years were probably some of the fondest memories for me. As a child my father was protector and teacher. He was by far the most influential person in my life, many of his thoughts and lessons I still carry with me today. My father was a small local contractor, and in demand, he always had work. I remember fondly during summer months he would take me with him on service calls. I would ride with him in his van full of tools from house to house generally fixing drains or plumbing and just happy to be in his company. He would drive and I would look out the window at all the landmarks that interested a seven-year old boy, my favorite eateries! These included: Burger Chef, Coney Island. Heap Big Beef, Tucker’s Steak House, and, don’t forget, Scotties roast beef at 11th and Wabash. As we drove down Locust Street I could see Paitson donuts, Great Scott and Haags pharmacy next door. On Wabash Avenue there was Topps, Grants, Roots and the Terre Haute House. In twelve points I would always beg to stop at Coverstone’s variety store. All those businesses are gone now but I remember them well. By Darla McCammon. To learn about Darla, go to the ABOUT tab or click here I grew up in the neighborhood of Terre Haute called “The Avenues.” During my childhood in Terre Haute (let’s just say it was more than a few years ago) our stucco bungalow was in a safe and comfortable part of town. Christmas on “The Avenues” arrived in late December with a sugary-looking frosty glaze on windows that looked out onto a tree-lined street full of hard-working middle class families. The frothed glass on the single-paned windows was created from the humidity of the extravagant cooking frenzy happening in the kitchen reacting to the icy temperatures outside.  Photo credit: http://www.emfoley.com/blog/pix/050128_frost.jpg The frosty windows created a canvas on which I could scratch magical designs with my fingernails and make imaginary villages that danced across the glass. These first works of art of my childhood only lasted until the cooking frenzy subsided and the frost melted. Sometimes I would take a deep breath and exhale on the ice on the glass to melt a round circle so I could peer out to see the long spikes of glistening icicles dangling from the eaves of the house like spears waiting to impale an unfortunate victim below. Within seconds of lifting my head away the cleared area would again fill with the cold grazed ice. By Jane Gallagher  The Bush Restaurant, formerly known as Conroy's and The Bramble Bush What this town needs is a great fish sandwich. Oh, one can find good fish sandwiches, but they’re not like the cod fish sandwiches we get at The Bramble Bush in Terre Haute. We’ve tried about every fish sandwich there is in Montgomery County. Some come close, but just don’t make the final cut. The Bramble Bush has a history with our family. It was called Conroy’s in the earlier days. My high school French teacher, Madame Conroy, owned the business with her husband. My parents had always been loyal patrons of the restaurant. When my sisters and I were young, sleeping in our upstairs dormitory room, some nights we were awakened by the smell of fried fish and onions wafting up through our heat vent. We’d holler down the stairs, “What’s that smell?”, which led to “Can we have a bite?” Mom and Dad would usually give in and we’d traipse down the stairs, get our bite of their Conroy’s fish sandwich, then reluctantly head back to bed. My dad often went on secret missions at night, after we were tucked in and supposedly asleep, to bring back exotic snacks like hot tamales, fish, or Sam’s Popcorn. The fried fish was what always woke us up. It was one of those good smells, comparable to when we are in the parking lot at the mall enjoying the aroma of the broilers cooking the hamburgers that we are not supposed to eat, or bread being freshly baked. by BigGeez As I mentioned a while back, in our current culture the simple act of eating out has become less about taking in needed nourishment and more about entertainment. But it hasn’t always been that way. I suppose there have always been those who made a meal at a fine restaurant the centerpiece of a night out, but for most folks — especially working people — eating was just something you did when you got hungry, and if you didn’t eat at home then the neighborhood diner was the most likely spot to satisfy your appetite. Like any city, Terre Haute has always been the site of a lot of diners — way too many to name — but I thought it might be fun to focus on one location with a colorful history. It begins in 1978 with what will be a familiar story to many. When comedian Steve Martin appeared in a live show in Terre Haute it wasn’t particularly big news, but when he later insulted the city in an interview in Playboy magazine it became a huge national story. Of course, everyone involved — including Martin and Terre Haute mayor Bill Brighton — recognized the opportunity for free publicity, and the comedian was soon on his way back to the city for a special tour of Terre Haute’s “high spots”. It was all tongue in cheek, so the stops on his tour were things like the fertilizer plant, a farm implement store, and a diner — the Shuffle Inn, a long-established neighborhood place located a few blocks North of Twelve Points. by Jane Buchholz Gallagher  Click for full view. Is your Christmas tree up yet? How many times have you been asked that question over the past two weeks? My dad would never consider even thinking about a Christmas tree until after Pearl Harbor Day, December 7. No matter how we’d beg and plead he’d stick to his guns: “It’s too early. I just got the storm windows on!” (The storms were always installed on Veterans’ Day.) Once the time finally came to get the tree, we’d all pile into the car and do comparative shopping, finding the store or lot that had the best tree for the money. Once in a while we’d head to the country to a “cut your own” tree lot and walk about in the fog, looking for the perfectly shaped tree. Once the tree was found, Dad would put it in the trunk, tying a rag to the end that was hanging out. After it dried out a day or two, he would trim off the trunk so it could absorb fresh water, and wrestle the tree into the tree stand. My mom would stand back and direct him to lean the tree a little to the right or left before he screwed the stand to the tree. Then he’d have to find the barest side to turn toward the wall. |
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