Ross's Restaurant

This week's final chapter of Iowa stories:

I was my dad's shadow while I lived at home. There wasn't a whole lot he did that I did help him with - from car repairs to home improvement projects I was always willing to find a needed tool or hold a piece of lumber just so. A lot of my dad time was spent in lumber yards and hardware stores.

I think Dad appreciated the help. He never told me so in words but my dad knew me and the things I liked and he often paid his helper. While we lived in Iowa, one of my favorite treats were Ross burgers. Ross's Restaurant still sits underneath I-74 right on the line between Bettendorf and Davenport. There was a hardware store my dad frequented in downtown Bettendorf and I never missed the chance to accompany Dad on trips to K&K Hardware - because Ross's was just down the road and if I played my cards just right, behaved and smiled just so at Dad......

Ross's specialty is steamed hamburger crumbled up in a warm bun. With a little ketchup, oh what a delight. Dad always slept in on Saturdays. With breakfast, shower and a shave, and a trip to the hardware for that weekend's project, well, if the stars were all in alignment, maybe ......"Dad, I am getting hungry. Is it almost lunch time?" We didn't go every trip to the hardware. My father was an expert at Pavlov's theory of the conditioned reflex. Intermittent reinforcement creates a strong reflex. Intermittent Ross burgers creates a more willing helper!

I also always loved coming home. Mom would ask "What do you two want for lunch?" Dad and I would try to act like we weren't real hungry but Mom always knew! "Did you two got to Ross's? David (uh oh - "David" is bad), she shouldn't be eating that stuff. Did you have french fries too?" To which I truthfully answered no. Serious situation under control! Inside I was smiling big because everybody knows you eat french fried onions with Ross burgers! Dad was a good parent though - he didn't usually indulge me in the chocolate milk I wanted!

So I still try to "sneak" in a Ross burger whenever I am in the Quad Cities. I also always tell my dad when I visit Ross's because if I don't, they just don't taste the same! Make sure you stop at Ross's if you are ever in the Quad Cities: 430 14th St, Bettendorf, IA. They also serve a killer bowl of chili!

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Scrap Lumber

Another story from the years my family lived in Iowa:

Our home in Iowa was on the edge of town in a small subdivision. Homes went up very slowly and at the back of each lot as a home was being constructed was a huge scrape pile full of lumber cut-offs. Those piles provided me with hours of projects.

One project was my tree house that I started and which my father helped me finish. I am sure my mother was worried about the construction specs on anything that large I might build at the age of ten. She had visions of broken bones and tried to warn me off of my dream home! She made sure to work my newest project into the dinnertime conversation that Thursday night. Thursdays were the night my father returned home after his sales trips. I remember the conversation started off with, "Susan, why don't you tell your father what you are working on this week?" I was always in trouble when Mom used Susan and father in the same sentence!

I am sure she thought he would forbid me from carrying the project forward. But Dad dug into my project like it was just another of his home improvement project (which, of course, it was!). I had scraped together quite a few pieces of 2x4's and Dad toted all the necessary tools out to the construction site. You see the tree wasn't in our yard but in the middle of the vacant field behind our home. He even donated some of his plywood stock for the floor. There was a cut out in the floor for an entrance and steps screwed into one of the trunks and just enough railing to make the treehouse safe. Dad must have known of my need for a quiet haven and I spent many an hour in that quiet treehouse away from my sister! The perfect place to read a book without someone wanting me to play Barbies!

When the doctor who owned that portion of the field sold his practice, his replacement also dreamed of broken bones. One very sad day I discovered someone had burnt my treehouse out of the tree. Dad wouldn't help me replace my treehouse since we had received such a stern warning from the new owner. But he did help me build a fort as a replacement! My fort was more like a phone booth without a door but it did have a seat and table built into the walls. We also scavenged some asphalt shingles for the roof! Dad being Dad also put some scavenged tar paper on the roof as anyone knows a good roof should have before shingles. Unfortunately my fort was at the very back of the yard and within calling distance for my mom and pestering distance for my sister. Although I loved the time I spent with Dad building my fort, it was never the same as my treehouse!

Barracuda

Just another fond memory of our days in Bettendorf, IA:

Every man has a flashback to their teen years and my father was no exception. In the spring of 1968, he bought a Plymouth Barracuda Fastback for the family car! She had a fold down back seat that was great for us kids at drive-in movies (See Mary, it is a family car) and a fold down trunk barrier that allowed my dad to carry home lumber for projects. (Very pratical, Dad!) I can remember the weekend he spent detailing the Cuda - racing stripes down her side and pin stripes front to back. She was a funky mint green color with white racing stripes. It was the engine that was my father's true love though. I can remember my mother's screams of panic on the interstate one trip to Michigan when my dad took the Cuda up over 95 mph!

But Dad also travelled a lot and always took the company car. That meant mom drove the Cuda during the week. Now remember we moved from a Detroit suburb - where streets were paved concrete. In Iowa there were a lot of gravel roads - and gravel roads were maintained by spraying tar on the old gravel and then spreading new gravel on top. The tar helped the new gravel "stick." One summer afternoon not long after we moved to Bettendorf, we encountered a road crew refreshing Utica Ridge Road near home. Mom saw the "Wet Tar" sign and the road crew. Most folks were turning around but her unfamiliarity with the area, the tarring process and the close proximity to home probably played a large part in her decision. Mom decided to keep going - past the road crew waving frantically at her! Mom decided to go faster - after all the road crew was waving at her to do so. Or at least she thought so!

I knew we were in trouble when we hit the end of the gravel road and encountered pavement. The Cuda's tires sounded like they were driving through sticky warm caramel. We pulled into the driveway and got out. Oh the damage! There were giant sprays of tar behind each wheel and up the side of the car. Mom's upper lip quivered in remorse.

I don't remember the conversation between my mom and dad when he returned home that week. I am sure mom sent us down to the basement and closed the pocket door. I do remember my father spent the entire weekend next to his beloved with a can of kerosene and a pile of rags. I also remember that weekend as one of the few times I wasn't my father's shadow. I am sure Mom knew Dad needed to be alone!