When in the halcyon days of Greeson’s Drug Store, its habitues gathered for coffee, invariably someone would intone a makeshift ditty: “Ham, lamb, ram, bull, bear, buzzard, goose, caboose and turkey butts — fried, of course.”
This was the menu, they swear, that attracted gourmands to the soda fountain of the famed emporium at Front and Oak Streets.
It hardly compared with notable eating establishments despite the parody that dripped from the lips of the gastronomes who frequented Greeson’s. The recitation of the “menu” was akin to some football cheer.
In the glory days of small town Conway, shortly before and after World War II, this was the place to be, where college students congregated, businessmen indulged, and shoppers found respite on the soda fountain’s comfy stools. It was an unforgettable watering hole operated by J. Bruce Greeson who came on to the scene in 1908.
It was the place to see and be seen. A day that failed to include Greeson’s in one’s timetable was time squandered. The action that took place in the revered spot still tugs at the heartstrings of Conway citizens of the era.
The other day when his eyes drank in a recent Log Cabin Democrat account of the Halter Building and the iconic drugstore and soda fountain, Bill Johnson, the onetime sports announcer and later banking guru, was bowled over recalling tales of the establishment.
“I can’t begin to tell you how many times I sat at that soda counter,” he reminisced before moving on to a recitation of his stature as one of the drug store’s mainstay customers. “How many phosphates did I drink?” his question aimed at no one.
He agrees that the place did not turn out whimsical or inventive creations, but that was not the point. It wasn’t utopia but when customers put their teeth to simple, but tasty concoctions, they were well satisfied. What the soda fountain delivered was what its patrons wanted - good, wholesome stuff without the frills. Conviviality was served in nice portions.
A random sampling of opinion of people whose recollections are still keen would develop memories of taste “sensations” like tuna, goose liver, egg and olive sandwiches, thick milk shakes.
A lot of “sparking” took place there, too, especially in the upstairs booths where food was delivered by a dumb waiter. Many a union was cemented in its environs: ask writer Joe Mosby and his wife Mary Ann.
Anyone who was anyone visited the place on a regular basis, feeling an inadequacy if they missed a day, a time when idyllic and tranquil moments reigned.
The love affair with the place extended into the lives of its employees. The late dentist, Dr. James Taylor Clark, spoke often about his tenure as a delivery boy.
“You have no idea of how happy I was when I got promoted to a job on the soda fountain,” he would remark in sheer delight when the subject of Greeson’s filled the air.
Johnson recollected the happy times of the “C Club” which met daily — “faithfully every morning at 8 o’clock” — in one of the booths that ringed the place.
“Some of the members were Elmer Fronabarger, George Robinette, Glen Varner, Hippo Crafton, Dr. Harley Weatherly Jr. and me,” Johnson said. “It was an eclectic group, if little else”
The breakfast hour was a busy time, and so was lunchtime. The action continued throughout the day and into the early nighttime hours. Business flourished in other areas of the drug store with its pharmacy department doing a “land office” business, according to a former customer.
Minimal furnishings distinguished the place. No one noticed. There were larger issues to be considered: fellowship, tasty viands, refreshing drinks. It was Conway’s signal establishment, even though other drug stores — at least three others — dotted the landscape.
The place reached sublimity of sorts during the days of World War II when servicemen were seen everywhere in the city. They found Greeson’s readily, and a stop there became what seemed like a command.
When the store closed in 1967, the news touched many people with sadness. Advertisements in the Log Cabin Democrat offered condolences such as one would speak of in the loss of a close friend. The news reminded readers that before it took the name of Greeson, the place had been established in 1890 by one Dr. J. F. Kincheloe. It was Kincheloe Drug, then Hamilton Drug (for A.J. Hamilton) and later Haydon Drug taking the name from its new owner, Jarvey Haydon.
Source:
No comments:
Post a Comment