Memories: Gasper's Truck Stop 

Did you have a hometown diner or a special spot that felt like your second home? Perhaps you knew a place where you and your friends always met to end your late night? Maybe you solved the world’s problems while sharing a slice of apple pie a la mode? Or was there a café where the owners knew your name, your order, and your table?

My small town didn’t have a diner. We had Gasper’s Truck Stop. Everyone was welcome at Gasper’s any time and every day of the year.

This family-owned restaurant, located off I-70 at US 54 interchange, catered to truckers from coast to coast. Truckers and townsfolk dined in different rooms. That was just the way Gasper’s worked, probably since the day it opened in 1965. It was the same year I-70 opened replacing old Highway 40.

I had my first Gasper’s experience in the 1970s when my family moved to the heartland. The food was fresh, and the service was fast. And the price was right.

Behind the cash register a black and white kitty cat clock with its swinging tale and googly moving eyes greeted the customers before the hostess even said, “Hello.”

We followed the hostess, menus stashed under her arm, past the smoke-filled truckers’ section to the larger dining area. Dishes and silverware clattered as the busboys cleared tables in a tornado-like fashion, removing all evidence of the last diners. It was always a full house with families, friends, and the reunion of old friends standing up to hug one another before being invited to sit down to catch up on old times.  

Gasper’s was known for its breakfast available all day. But I expect it was more famous among locals for its crispy, juicy fried chicken served on Sundays. Customers were willing to wait in long lines for Sunday dinner (noon meal) after church.

Our family of four liked to eat at Gasper’s on Saturday mornings. The menu was simple. You didn’t have to play Sherlock Holmes to decipher, deduce or debate a long list of ingredients in each dish. Choices included: biscuits covered with gooey gravy seasoned with plenty of pepper, eggs prepared every way possible, golden pancakes stacked high, toast (white or wheat), bacon or sausage.

Soon, the savory smells of breakfast sausage mingling with burgers and fries made you aware of how hungry you were ever time servers passed by with trays loaded with food, glorious food!  

Waitresses appeared at the table ready to take your order. No introductions needed. This career waitresses didn’t tell the table, “I’ll be talking care of you today.” These gals didn’t need to tell you they were going to take care of you, they showed you. Coffee cups were magically filled. If Dad asked for extra crisp bacon, he was rarely disappointed. Your waitress delivered your order right the first time.

I was fond of the French toast sprinkled with powdered sugar and served with the little pats of butter in gold foil, accompanied by a pitcher of sweet syrup. The soft yolky yellow toast tasting like butter and cinnamon melted in my mouth.

However, I was not a fan of the claw machine. This coin-operated game drew adults and kids to lower the claw into the glass cage of cute fuzzy stuffed animals and cheap trinkets. The player used a sticky joystick to move the claw, grab a toy and drop it into the chute. Except, the claw always dropped the prize before reaching the exit chute.   

After breakfast, Dad and my younger brother walked through the parking lot to look at the big rigs and talk with the truck drivers. In later years, Dad and I bought lottery tickets at Gasper’s because they had high ticket sales, increasing the odds of winning. Dad didn’t get rich. The small sums we won were enough to pay for the 14-mile roundtrip to try. Worth every cent.

After 39 years, Gasper’s owners sold the business and retired.

Today, there’s a modern truck plaza along with plenty of chains and convenience stores serving truckers, tourists, and townies. But I don’t feel as welcome or taken care of today as I did then.