Memory often better than reality
February 16-22, 2026
By Jay Edwards
Don’t be angry - don’t be sad
Don’t sit crying over good times you’ve had
There’s a girl right next to you
And she’s just waiting for something to
do - From “Love the One You’re With”
By Stephen Stills, 1970
So my friend and former co-worker David LaPrad over in Chattanooga got me to thinking as I read his column about the new Whataburger they recently opened in the “Scenic City.” David was put out because, as is often the case at a new place, they were a little slow. With a Fast Food place you don’t always get your food fast, especially when they’ve only been open a couple of days. I chuckled to myself as I read his description of the “wave of horror that hits the moment you’re locked into a slow-moving drive-thru, boxed in by curbs and traffic, with no way out but through.”
It’s happened to us all I guess, especially if you ever hit the Sonic on Cantrell next to the car wash. I used to pull in there a lot after two in the afternoon for one of those cheap big Cokes with lots of their great ice. But, once you’re in that line there’s no way out except through.
One time recently when I was in that line I remembered that the car hops used to wear roller skates, I thought. But maybe they didn’t at all, maybe I was thinking of the girls in “American Graffiti,” which perfectly portrayed what many must consider the good old days. My good old days were back on Kent Road in the Lakewood subdivision of North Little Rock, when Mom made me fried bologna sandwiches with mustard and mayo on white bread. I was at the Kroger in Hillcrest not long ago when I spotted a package of the same Oscar Mayer mystery meat and tossed some in my cart. I didn’t wait long after getting home to fry a couple pieces up and slap it between two slices of bread that had already been slathered with French’s on one and Hellmann’s on the other. My mouth watered with anticipation from a half century memory. I took a big bite, chewed and swallowed, waiting for a little bit of that long ago heaven to fire in my brain.
And you know what. It didn’t happen. It wasn’t that good at all. What a letdown.
Sulking quietly, I scrolled through old Facebook pictures I’d posted and came across a copy of an old menu from Minute Man. Back in the early 60’s and late 70’s Mom would take my brothers and me to the one on JFK up in Park Hill. I was partial to the Hickory Smoked, which was one of the even numbers, two or six I think. Those radar pies with the butter on top were great too, at least I remembered them that way. Then I thought of how excited I’d been a few years ago when I heard they were bringing a Minute Man back, in Jacksonville. I headed over there the week after they opened and could hardly wait to sink my teeth into that familiar hickory-smoked char-grilled taste, which I did... and you know what. Not that great. What the heck!
Another photo I came across after my bologna bummer was from 1975. It was in my dorm on the 6th floor of Yocum Hall at the U of A. KM and I were sitting on my bed and she was holding a Coors can. This was pre-Silver Bullet, when all they made was the kind that came in a yellow can and we had to drive into Oklahoma to get it because they didn’t sell any in Arkansas. There may have been some law back then about bringing a couple cases of Coors across the state line. Never mind that we were only 18. But we had to go get some because, well, because we couldn’t get it at Town and Country.
But you know what, the last time I had one of those yellow-can Coors it fell into the fried bologna, Minute Man #6 category. Just not that great. But the heart wants what the heart wants, even though the taste buds may disagree.
Photo Caption:
White bread days. The author (in cart) at his birthday party around 1960. The tow-headed kid in front on the right is now a famous NLR judge.
Photo Credit:
(Photo credit – Mom)
