With their mother out of town, I
was Mr. Mom. Getting three ready for
school wasn’t a challenge. Alan, Emily
and Eric knew the drill to hustle out the back door. But when they came home in the afternoon, the
big question was: “What’s for supper?”
On the second night, I said, “Load up in
the car.” All the way out the Savannah highway, I was peppered with “Where are
we going?”
“You’ll see,” I answered.
When I pulled off the road, the trio saw
the “Eat Now” sign. They chirped, again, “What’s for supper?”
I repeated: “You’ll see.”
Eric must have been about 3. His cheeseburger sat untouched. He was mesmerized by the wax-paper bag of
battered and crunchy French fries. After
dipping about three Dairy Ranch fries into a glob of ketchup and munching, he licked
his lips. With a puzzled look, our
youngest asked, “Daaaaddy,” why
haven’t we ever done this before?”
That was about 35 years ago.
Before I-95 emerged, U.S. 301 was a major
north-south travelers’ artery. So when Homer Johnson opened the Dairy Ranch in
1952, it was an immediate hit. Over the years, the establishment has had four
owners. In the late 1970s, Carlton
Roberts—after graduating from the University of Georgia—joined our company for
a stint. His parents were proprietors of
the Dairy Ranch then.
In so many words, Carlton said that if he
had all the Crisco that had been used at the Dairy Ranch, he could float every boat in Wayne County. We Southerners do like it fried.
Several generations of teenagers grew up under
the Dairy Ranch’s neon glow. The Dairy
Queen was a phenomenon, too. Cruising
around the DQ on Friday and Saturday nights was a must. But the “Eat Now” had a jukebox inside. You could listen to Elvis and chomp on a
foot-long hot dog and a bag of those irresistible French fries.
Box meals were big at the Dairy
Ranch. Back in the day, a sign in the
window even advertised a rabbit box. But
the all-time favorite was the chicken box—crunchy chicken and crunchy fries. The late Avron
Moore—during his life—ate so many chicken boxes that he was nicknamed Chicken
Box. Jesup City Manager Mike Deal said,
“I never heard him called anything but Chicken Box.”
In the 1980s, I got to know Eddy Lane—owner
of the Dairy Ranch—when he was a county commissioner. And after his death, members of his family
continued operation until closing last summer.
Saturday, I pulled into the Dairy Ranch
parking lot, hoping to step back into the 1960s. I thought a bag of those French fries would
be the ticket to Memory Lane. And then
the “closed” sign on the drive-in window reminded me that the Dairy Ranch
really is a thing of the past.
On July 1, owner Brenda Lane decided to
retire. She worked there almost 40
years. Twenty-four years ago, she purchased the restaurant from her
father-in-law. “Wayne County has been
good to me,” she said. “I am very
grateful.”
Today, the Crisco may be cold. But decades of Dairy Ranch stories are still
hot.
Right now, I can see Eric’s puzzled look
and hear his words: “Daaaaddy, why
haven’t we ever done this before?”
Long live Southern-fried
memories of the Dairy Ranch.
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com
