
03/03/2025
BON APPÉTIT! GUTHRIE STYLE
By Steve Haley
The Guthrie I Remember …
In the 1960s US Highway 41 was a crucial route to Chicago, passing right through the heart of Guthrie. Throughout the day and night, 18-wheelers continuously traveled along this busy thoroughfare in our small town. Guthrie had two motels that catered to these travelers. They displayed signs welcoming truck drivers, and there were nearby restaurants to feed them.
As truckers journeyed from Adams to Guthrie, they frequently stopped at The Colonial Inn. Across the street, Covington's Motel offered a comfortable place to rest after enjoying a hot meal. Further down Highway 41, in Tiny Town, there were more lodging and dining options.
At the intersection of Highways 41 and 79, marked by a flashing red light, was The Coffee Cup Restaurant, owned by Paul Batson. The Coffee Cup was open 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year. It featured a spacious gravel parking lot, making it easy for truckers to maneuver their vehicles. This bustling establishment attracted both locals and long-haulers alike.
Former County Commissioner and retired Robertson County school teacher, John Wiggins, shared that he often stopped at The Coffee Cup on Friday evenings while returning home after a long week of studying at Austin Peay. He needed a couple of strong cups of hot coffee to help him stay awake.
Some of my Wix family occasionally worked at The Coffee Cup. Uncle C.D. operated the gas pumps in between job assignments with the pipeline. Aunt Joan worked as a waitress there, and we children were fascinated by the amount of change she brought home from the tips she collected. My cousins Bob Chezem, Vickie Chezem, and Dennis Wix bussed tables after school and on weekends periodically.
My family sometimes dined at The Colonial Inn, but we never ate at The Coffee Cup. My mother wasn't a very confident driver, and the traffic around The Coffee Cup intimidated her. Our preferred eatery was The Graves Family Restaurant located across the road.
The atmosphere at Graves was much more relaxed, which suited our family perfectly. This laid-back atmosphere likely stemmed from the fact that the Graves family lived in the back of the restaurant, making it feel like we were dining in their home. Additionally, the tables and chairs resembled those you would find in a typical American kitchen or dining room. When my parents announced that we were going out to eat, it was our cue to take baths and put on our Sunday best. Upon arrival, we walked quietly in single file behind our father as he led us to the table he had chosen.
My grandmother, Ruth Wix, affectionately known as Mama Wix, worked as a waitress at both The Coffee Cup and Graves Restaurant off and on. Our grandfather, Dennis Wix, whom we called Daddy Wix, would accompany her to work on Saturday nights. He was very social and preferred not to stay home alone watching television. This arrangement felt special to us because, while she worked, he would sit at the table with us, holding my baby sister, Rhonda.
Once we were settled in, Mama Wix approached our table, balancing several menus and a tray filled with water glasses. She embodied the quintessential Southern waitress of the time, with her hair styled in either a beehive or a French curl, depending on the current trend. Mrs. Gussie Mitchell, her hairdresser, ensured her hair was always beautifully coiffed. The uniform and apron she wore were freshly starched and pressed.
After handing out the water and menus, Mama Wix told us she would return to take our orders. My sister, Denise, and I didn't even need to look at the menus; we already knew what we wanted. We always ordered the same thing whenever we ate there.
As Mama Wix returned to our table with a pen and pad in hand, we began placing our orders, starting with our father. My sister and I always ordered a hamburger, fries, and a Coke. Mama Wix didn't need to ask us what we wanted on our burgers; she already knew. After all, she was our grandmother and had prepared burgers for us countless times.
Our food arrived at the table in short order. The burger was so warm and thick that you had to press it down to take a bite. It was made from fresh ground beef instead of a frozen, processed patty. The fries were crinkle-cut, measuring three to four inches long, and fried to a golden brown. Once ketchup was applied to the ends of the fries, the weight of the condiment caused it to bend like a fishing pole with a trophy catch on the line. Our father ended our leisurely meal by ordering coffee for himself and Daddy Wix and enjoying a cigarette.
I witnessed two unforgettable celebrations of pure joy at Graves Restaurant. The first was my Aunt Betty's wedding reception to Jimmy Buck in November 1966. The wedding ceremony took place at Tiny Town Baptist Church, which had not yet built a fellowship hall at that time. Since there was no suitable area for cutting the wedding cake, serving punch, or distributing nuts and chalky mints, the newlyweds reserved Graves Restaurant for the event.
My cousins and I were seated at the lunch bar in the restaurant, and we were instructed to be still and quiet. As the wedding party entered the restaurant, I thought then—and still do today—that they were some of the most glamorous people I had ever seen. The groomsmen looked dapper in their matching tuxedos, and the bridesmaids, led by my mother as the matron of honor, were absolutely stunning in the gowns that Mama Wix had made for them. There was joy on every face, and laughter filled the room.
The last event focused on Baptist Men’s Day, which Tiny Town Baptist Church celebrated on the last Sunday in January. The goal was to engage laymen in service activities that encouraged them to step out of their comfort zones. It was always a highlight on the calendar of our small church.
The day began with the men gathering for breakfast at Graves. One notable church member, Walton Sayle, was absent, causing concern among attendees who inquired about his health. Soon, his brother Terry arrived at the restaurant and informed everyone that Mr. Walton and Ms. Lou were at the hospital because she had gone into labor. Silence fell among the men, as Ms. Lou was of advanced age to be delivering a child. Like Sarah, Hannah, and Elizabeth from the Bible, God had chosen a later in life time for them to conceive. Our Pastor, Doug Downing, offered a prayer. The men continued their meal in relative quietness until the door opened and in strolled Mr. Sayle, also known as Uncle Wally to many of us.
His face was beaming with a smile that stretched from ear to ear as he announced the birth of their daughter, Lisa Ann. Both she and Ms. Lou were doing remarkably well. A roar of celebration and gratitude erupted among the small group of men as they rejoiced in this wonderful news. That day, I learned that people don't have to share bloodlines to love each other like family.
The Graves family closed the restaurant in the early 1970s. The building and property were eventually purchased and converted into a convenience store. It is now known for a giant pink elephant in the parking lot and lottery tickets. When I stop at the flashing red light waiting for traffic to clear I will look over at the spot where the restaurant stood. I always smile as my mind returns to a simpler time of fellowship and dining — when food wasn't fast and we weren't in a hurry to eat it.
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Steve Haley spent his childhood in Guthrie, KY during the 1960s and 1970s. He loves to recount the stories of his extraordinary ordinary upbringing in a small Southern town with his many friends. If you have any comments or suggestions,
you can email him at [email protected] or call/text him at 615.483.2573
Photo: Stockcake.com
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