The Rejuvenating Representation of Root Beer Stands

“Eating a hot dog could cost you 36 minutes of healthy life,” claimed a study released by the University of Michigan in the summer of 2021. Although the investigation went viral and caused click-bait headlines throughout social media, it didn’t seem to sway the loyalty enjoyed by chili dog slinging root beer stands across Ohio that year. Undaunted, these places still served up summertime nostalgia—spots where even the most generic menu offerings are overshadowed by local affirmation. Such dire academic statistics couldn’t dissuade Travis or I either. Our plan for the weekend was simple:

Head out on a Saturday morning with our cameras, my dog, and my car.
Document as many root beer stands as we could throughout Ohio in one day.
Crash for the night, wherever we stopped, in a reasonably priced lodging establishment of “moderate” to “good” quality.
Set out through Ohio again on Sunday.
Document as many stands as we could on day two.
At each stand, we (or at least I) would throw Fitbit metrics and health recommendations to the wind—sampling a mug of root beer and whatever menu item was the “thing” to order.

The kind of place we were in search of: Jolly’s of Hamilton, Ohio as seen in July, 2020.

• • •

“How exciting this new kind of eating place was to an impressionable boy already enamored with automobiles,” reminisced authors John A. Jakle and Keith A. Sculle in their book Fast Food: Roadside Restaurants in the Automobile Age. “One could drive under a cantilevered canopy…teenaged girls, whom I quickly learned to call ‘carhops,’ took orders and returned with food on trays.”

These days, in-car dining is more commonly achieved via drive-thrus rather than drive-ins, but it was the notion of stopping to enjoy a meal within the comfort of one’s vehicle that captured the imagination of hungry Americans in the mid-20th century. A&W Restaurants had disseminated the concept. Although they had been operating eateries since 1919—it was their bright orange, car-centric locations that became mid-century cultural hallmarks. Diners could simply pull up, park, and order through a speaker. However, when fast food brands represented by clowns and kings rose to prominence, even A&W shifted to become mostly a staple of mall food courts—leaving behind many of their classic roadside establishments.

Some orange canopies would find new life via locals developing their own independent operations. In addition to touchstones such as root beer, ice cream floats, and hot dogs—many community staples began to offer regional varieties of traditional fast food fare: “Spanish hot dogs” slathered in sauce, “footlong coneys” with varying chili thickness depending on geographic tastes, “German hot dogs” topped with sauerkraut, and “slaw dogs” whose additional toppings can vary depending on what area of the country you’re in.

A&W Root Beer mascot as seen in Wittenberg, Wisconsin, 1988.
*From the John Margolies Roadside America Photograph Archive of the Library of Congress.*

• • •

“I can’t stay out late (but always do)” should be the title of my autobiography according to a good friend (you’re absolutely right, Bob). Travis has read that book many times. Thankfully, he’s understanding as the dog and I arrive on this fine August morning to pick him up much later than previously agreed upon. The weather and time of year couldn’t be more appropriate for our plans. Peak Midwestern summer: oppressively hot, muggy, sticky, and awash in bright sun as we set out in search of stories (and the kinds of food that can cure my lingering hangover).

• • •

“They create something unique that people identify with their childhood,” says food historian and self-described “food etymologist” Dann Woellert, author of numerous books including The Authentic History of Cincinnati Chili.

“Food memories cement very strongly in our psyche and that’s why comfort food is so popular. It’s not only taste and flavor, it’s that connection with a memory from your past.”

Indeed, as root beer stands morphed from franchises to community icons in the latter half of the 20th century, many folks would grow up with an appreciation for their resident version. These local staples have an established branding strategy in the form of authentic nostalgia, a marketing tactic that a chain like Sonic could never concoct no matter if a bunch of suits have declared the company to be “America’s Drive-In.”

• • •

The Root Beer Stand of Sharonville, Ohio.
*35mm*

Our first stop is The Root Beer Stand of Sharonville. Swarming with hungry patrons and bees at lunchtime, we snag a table around back and swat away the insects. Travis paces himself with one standard chili cheese dog. I, however, order a footlong chili cheese dog and a “pizza steak burger” (using my ringing head as justification for overindulgence). The hell is a pizza steak burger? My friends Lisa and Joe, who introduced it to me years before, describe it this way:

“A low quality hamburger patty filled with government grade mozzarella served on an over-processed white bread bun. Topped with pizza sauce that more closely resembles a very fancy ketchup than it does a quality pizza sauce.
And it’s delicious.
It tastes like nostalgia and perfectly sunny, 72 degree days.”

Root beer, footlong chili cheese dog, and a pizza steak.
*35mm*

Sadly (but understandably), the stand’s classic interior is closed due to the ongoing pandemic. While I would’ve loved to have crowded into the small building to order off the classic menu, the employees have developed a great system for taking and serving orders outside. Our friend Alecia joins us for our first meal of the day and we soak it all in while children climb on playground equipment and wave to a passing Norfolk-Southern locomotive.

When The Root Beer Stand is open for the season, there is never not a line (but it’s *always* worth the wait).
*Digital*

The Root Beer Stand had once been an atypical A&W location—orange roof, carhops, and all. In the early 80s, the franchise rights expired and the place went independent—adopting its current, direct moniker. Patrons remained loyal, however, and the place became a celebrated suburban Cincinnati institution. One that still uses a 280 foot well and maintains its original, family created recipes for both chili and root beer.

Liz Andover, Caroline Andover, and Sue Fischer—kind folks who we met at The Root Beer Stand.
Digital

20 minutes later, we’re pulling off of Hamilton’s Erie Blvd. For me, Jolly’s Drive-In is a familiar name. I grew up with one in nearby Fairfield until it was torn down for a damned Taco Bell. I’ve been to this particular location on Hamilton’s East side a few times (one of two remaining) and it’s always been just as wonderful as I remember. Today’s no different as fries, a couple of chili cheese dogs, and a few mugs of cold root beer are all served in a tray placed on my car window.

The place is unpretentious and transactional. The constant stream of work trucks bark their orders and then reverse with warning sirens to get on with their day. Having once been an A&W franchise like its Sharonville counterpart, Jolly’s also commands institutional status amongst the community in the same vein as the previously mentioned Root Beer Stand. However, there’s less outward fanfare here. It’s a muted celebration of local history aside from a small space on the menu displaying a black and white photograph of a couple with the following message:

“The Jolivette Family is proud to carry on the tradition of Betty & Vince! We are grateful to the thousands of local employees who have helped make it all possible over the years! Enjoy!”

Not long after leaving Jolly’s—Mike, Ally, and Betsy ask if they can say hi to my dog. The kind and welcoming folks sitting at the picnic table next to us have stopped by for ice cream and a late lunch. Mike had grown up with The Jug in Middletown and now his daughter is doing so as well. We discuss his memories while tossing leftovers to an adopted terrier who’s turning her nose up at kibble in favor of hot dog scraps.

At this point, I’ve consumed more soda over the last few hours than I have in the last few months. There’s also been multiple chili dogs, some onion rings, and crispy fries swimming in salt. And this is only our third stop of the day. The highlight here, though—the thing I truly came for: “The Middie.” I had this burger once before while out this way on a previous story. Honestly and truly—one of the best burgers I’ve ever had. Topped with bacon, pickles, honey, and peanut butter (I know, I was once skeptical too): it’s simply outstanding.

Established in 1932, The Jug has always been known by that name. Despite a few location changes over the years, the place has a firm spot in the hearts of those who grew up with it. Whether it’s this place, the previous two stops, or any other locally beloved ice cream/“whippy dip”/soft serve stand in a community—spots like this are often the first jobs for many young people. Something of a right of passage. As my friend, Michael, would later describe it to me:

“The Jug was the local establishment. I grew up going there as a kid just like my parents had in their youth. Sure, it was, in part, a silly high school job that I only took because my best friend was the manager, but it was also so much more. No summer day out with friends in Middletown, Ohio was complete without a trip to The Jug. It was assumed that you would go for a burger and a chilled mug of root beer after a dip at the pool or a day at the park. We were serving more than burgers, we were serving memories.”

•••

Debbie Pennington grew up at a business with a similar menu and operation to that of the classic root beer stand. Working at her family’s Dairy Queen franchise in Lindenwald, she served up chili dogs to workers on break from the nearby Southern Ohio Steel plant. It’s where she met her now-husband, Dan.

“He stopped to get himself a drink and he’s been paying for it ever since,” she told me over the phone while laughing.

Now President of the Fairfield, Ohio Historical Society (and my former neighbor), Debbie not only has a detailed recollection of the numerous root beer stands that once operated in her town, but firsthand experience which speaks to why these spots have become so beloved over time.

“It’s the personal touch,” she says. “We had regular customers and we knew our customers, we knew what they wanted when they walked up to the window.”

•••

In the few hours we’ve been on the road, we’ve barely made it to the edge of the Cincinnati metro area. As gray clouds roll in and block out the sun, my mood follows suit. Just six minutes down the road from The Jug, I’m not fantasizing about more root beer or more hot dogs. Rather, in the parking lot of our next waypoint, I complain to Travis about my health—imagining ailments and debilitating conditions that are sure to be brought on by consuming this much fast food in one weekend. I’m not sure how much longer I can go on this weekend (or, rather dramatically, how much time I have left in total).

Travis listens patiently, nods politely.

The dog naps.

And the J&E Root Beer Stand of Middletown appears closed.

But Nikki, the server who comes out to greet us, assures us it’s not. However, they are out of corn dogs.

And Sierra Mist (which, according to my handwritten notes, was a concern for Travis).

Note: Travis does not remember why this was a concern. Neither do I.

Spoiler alert: it’s apparently tradition for root beer stands to close at 8 p.m.
*35mm*

A small root beer float. That’s all I can manage for right now. Travis has pressed pause, declining on eating at this location. Nikki is kind enough to provide the sweet treat for free. A complimentary gift presented after hearing the story of our day so far and our plans for the weekend. We wave goodbye as I chug down the melting ice cream in the heat of the car.

Refreshing. That’s how I’d describe the sugary beverage I just swigged down, but now I’m worrying about my teeth in addition to my health.

“Am I having a heart attack?”

“Do my toes feel numb?”

“Is that diabetes setting in?”

“By thinking that am I putting bad vibes out into my world?”

“I really need to go for a bike ride when I get home, need to get back to my regular running routine.”

“But am I too late?”

“Do I have a cavity?”

“…or cavities?”

By the time we reach Union City after an hour or so, I’m back to being rational. And hungry. But we’ve also decided we’re not going to push things too far. We’ll go back home to Cincinnati tonight, spend tomorrow’s Sunday eating healthier foods and doing something more productive. We’re going to atone for our caloric sins by cancelling the planned second day.

Union City, Ohio and Union City, Indiana are “twin cities” that straddle the border between the two states. It’s the Ohio side we’re interested in today, however. While the middle part of this nation is dotted with former A&W root beer stands that have now become beloved ‘mom and pop’ places—this small, western buckeye town still bears the classic brand name.

The dog is stretching her legs in the grass, suspiciously eying the mechanical, rotating bear as it twirls with a squeaky weariness near the road. Travis is back to full strength, placing an order into the carhop speaker for chicken tenders, fries, and a large root beer float. I opt for yet another chili cheese dog, fries, and just a regular root beer.

A few employees gossip about the rumored departure of one of their colleagues while we walk around and make photographs. A man and his wife enjoying their dinner in a car beneath the awning call me over and ask what I’m doing. They hail from over the border in Indiana and while they love the A&W on this side of the border, both have fond memories of similar root beer stands from the various Midwestern hamlets where they grew up.

Carhop menu and speaker at the Union City A&W.
35mm

Our food arrives and we dine atop a rusted, orange table in the sun. We’ve been in the car too long to bother eating in the front seats. The cheese served here is a straight sauce and the chili is thicker, quite the contrast to the “coney” style of dogs served in the Southwest corner of the state where we’ve been earlier, but it’s all still delicious.

Most of these “traditional” root beer stands are seasonal and (at least in this second pandemic summer) seem to have one other operating restriction: the 8:00 P.M. closure. Any other location within our striking distance will soon shut off their grill for the day. We’ve got time to make maybe one more. Hedging our bets on Sidney about an hour or so away, we take off.

I don’t want to use Wikipedia as a source, but as we cruise along OH-47, it seems to be the only thing giving us any info. Apparently, B&K Rootbeer was once a chain spanning Indiana, Michigan, and Ohio. Very similar to A&W’s drive-in/root beer stand concept—the chain itself died off around the time Travis and I entered the world. Per the “source” we could find: “In the late 1980s, [Company President Dave Chapoton] sold the B-K trademarks to Burger King Corporation, which they then launched their new Grilled Chicken sandwich, the ‘BK Broiler.’”

What was known for sure was that any remaining B&K’s were now independent, even if they still retained the name (and offered various ways of displaying the letters together). The one we were headed to: “B & K Rootbeer.”

Passing through the quaint confines of downtown Sidney, we spy another interesting eatery. While not a root beer stand in the vein of what we’ve sought out today, “The Spot” appears to be a drive-in that offers both carhop service, as well as, a classic diner style interior. We immediately agree to go there after reaching our final root beer site.

I pull the car into a lot next to some abandoned batting cages now overgrown with vegetation. B & K is sleepy, getting ready to close for the evening, but kind enough to accommodate us before they close in ten minutes.

Travis is tapped out on food, but I’m fully resigned to my artery clogging fate now—opting to order some combination of a bun, hot dog, shredded cheddar cheese, chili, onions, and sauerkraut topped with jalapeños. It comes with a styrofoam cup of root beer featuring a frothy, white fizz on the surface. If it tastes any different than all the other variations of the beverage I’ve had today, I couldn’t tell you. The drink is good, though, and the hot dog… well, it’s damn good.

Although the staff has almost locked up for the night, they kindly oblige my request to turn on the lights for one photograph before we say goodbye.

If a root beer stand doesn’t look like this, is it really a root beer stand?
*35mm*

Cruising back through town for one more culinary adventure, we pull into “The Spot.” Like every other place, however,: it apparently closed at 8:00 PM.

The day’s done.

I walk the dog while we check out the city and then we head off for a few beers with friends in Dayton before we cruise down Interstate 75 towards Cincinnati—right past the giant Jesus statue that overlooks the flea markets and Hustler store due north of the part of Ohio we call home.

• • •

March 8, 2022 —

I sat on this story for awhile. By the time I really got around to writing it, most of Ohio’s root beer stands were already closing down for the season. Then, when I got around to actually publishing it: most of the state’s (and Midwest’s) root beer stands were preparing to reopen for another year.

Over the last few months, Ohio’s been a pothole-ridden mess covered in ice and salt. We had a false sense of seasonal security as it turned beautiful for a moment, but now we’re back to to gray skies and 40 degrees.

No matter the weather, though, time marches on the same. While some may see the early blooms of Spring as a sign of rebirth and rejuvenation, I prefer to seek out revival via places like root beer stands. No matter how strongly I arm myself against the creeping effects of nostalgia, there’s a part of me that will always appreciate what these kinds of places represent.

The kind we sought out last summer.

The kind that offer the sort of experience I’ve sought to recreate today while walking a couple of blocks with my dog to meet up with Travis, a few other friends, and my favorite “street meat” vendor.

Even if you’ve desired to escape, but still remained—few Midwesterners can deny the call of the local ice cream/hot dog/root beer stand.

We love it.

You love it.

No matter where you are—Ohio or otherwise.

For me, these places represent better days to come. Days when the sun will stick around longer. Days when I’ll once again fall for the idea of seasonal change and renewal.

“Maybe this year.”

“Maybe, possibly, today.”

I’ve got my own root beer stand here in the heart of the city.

And on this day, I’ve indulged in a refreshing beverage poured into the glass mug I brought from home.

Root beer stands signal seasonal revival, usher in the kind of Midwestern hope that springs eternal.

They represent a new shot at life.

Even if, statistically speaking, I just took 108 more minutes off of mine by eating three chili cheese dogs this afternoon (288 minutes in total when you factor in all the hot dogs I ate for this story).

Me, Magoo, Egypt the dog, and Travis at the Downtown Cincinnati Root Beer Stand (patent pending) on March 8, 2022.
*Photograph by Phil Armstrong.*

• • •

Thank you to Dann Woellert for speaking with me for this story. You can find Dann’s excellent book on Cincinnati chili here.
Thank you to Debbie & Dan Pennington for chatting with me for this story (and for being the most wonderful neighbors to live next to while growing up).
Special thanks to Magoo—my friend (and favorite hot dog vendor) who is always so incredibly kind to Egypt and I when we walk by her stand at 8th and Broadway in Downtown Cincinnati.
Thanks to Travis, as always, for going on weird trips with me and putting up with my tardiness/hangover-induced anxiety.
- And thanks to Justin and Phil for eating hot dogs with me on Tuesday afternoons/dealing with me when I randomly disappear on Friday nights.

• • •

The root beer stands that appeared in this story:

The Root Beer Stand - Sharonville, Ohio. Seasonal, but now open for 2022.
Jolly’s Drive-In (East Side) - Hamilton, Ohio. Seasonal, but now open for 2022.
The Jug - Middletown, Ohio. Open year-round.
J&E Rootbeer Stand - Middletown, Ohio. Seasonal, not yet open for 2022.
A&W - Union City, Ohio. Open year-round.
B & K Rootbeer - Sidney, Ohio. Seasonal, not yet open for 2022.

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