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TIME: Almanac 1995
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<text id=89TT1132>
<title>
May 01, 1989: Reflections On 28 Flavors
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1989
May 01, 1989 Abortion
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
ESSAY, Page 82
Reflections on 28 Flavors
</hdr><body>
<p>By Otto Friedrich
</p>
<p> It is strange how often business enterprises that seem a
basic part of American life just fade away, and how soon one
forgets that they were ever there. Yes, like Packards and
Studebakers (or convertibles with rumble seats). Or getting
one's daughter shoes at Best's, until she grew old enough for
cashmeres from Peck & Peck . . . Or trying to recall the
Burma-Shave signs that used to enliven those long trips before
most people ever took airplanes. TO STEAL/ A KISS/ HE HAD THE
KNACK/ BUT LACKED THE CHEEK/ TO GET ONE BACK/ BURMA-SHAVE.
</p>
<p> Imagine, if you can, living someday in an America where
nobody under the age of 40 can remember names like Pepsi-Cola
or Ford or Howard Johnson's. Impossible! So on a drive from New
York City to Washington not long ago, it seemed the most natural
thing in the world to stop for lunch at the next Howard
Johnson's. A hot dog and some French fries and a dish of
maple-walnut ice cream. That was what one had been doing on the
superhighway to Washington ever since it was built back at the
dawn of the Republic. But when that familiar orange roof loomed
up out of the rain near Wilmington, Del., it turned out that the
orange roof covered only a Howard Johnson motor lodge and the
adjoining restaurant called itself Bob's Big Boy. It would be
uncharitable to criticize a Big Boy restaurant for not being a
Howard Johnson's, but when one has been looking forward to a
Howard Johnson's hot dog and a dish of Howard Johnson's maple
walnut, anything that Big Boy has to offer is, well, not the
same. And if one inquires politely how far down the superhighway
one must go to find the next Howard Johnson's restaurant, the
polite answer is that there aren't any there anymore.
</p>
<p> And so another piece of one's childhood is consigned to
oblivion. The reason those hot dogs linger so deliciously in
the memory is not the hot dogs themselves, actually, but the
toasted buns they came in, and the yellow pseudobuttery glop
that reduced the toasted buns to toasted mush, and the elongated
white cardboard containers that held the toasted mush so that
one could make a game of trying to gnaw on the hot-dog mush
without getting one's hands and face entirely covered with the
dripping glop -- a game that, to one's parents' despair, one
invariably lost.
</p>
<p> But that was just an appetizer to the prospect of a Howard
Johnson's ice-cream cone containing one of the famous 28
flavors. Chocolate or coffee (or maple walnut) might be good
enough for parents, but if one was an inquisitive and
competitive boy with a mania for collecting things, the obvious
challenge was to eat all 28 flavors. This was not so easy as it
might seem, for not all Howard Johnson's restaurants carried all
28 flavors. Nor was it as pleasant as it might seem either, for
there were flavors like ginger that had very little reason to
exist except to be one of the magical 28. But there were always
the marvelous cones, for Howard Johnson's cones were just about
the only ones that stayed crisp and tasty no matter how long one
spent lapping the ice cream down into the bottom, trying to make
it last longer than anyone else's cone. Mon Dieu, tell Marcel
Proust that madeleines are not made anymore.
</p>
<p> But is it really possible that Howard Johnson's simply
disappeared, and without anyone saying farewell? No, the
reality is more interesting. From the day in 1928 when Howard
D. Johnson opened his first roadside stand, in Wollaston, Mass.,
to sell hot dogs and a rich chocolate ice cream of his own
formulation (16% butterfat), the next half-century was largely
a story of growth and profit. But that success inevitably
brought increased competition from all kinds of newcomers, like
McDonald's, and the gas shortages of the 1970s hurt all roadside
businesses considerably. There were also some who claimed that
baby-boom customers preferred zippy novelties like, say,
tacoburgers. So when Howard B. Johnson, son of the founder, got
an offer in 1979 from a British conglomerate named Imperial
Group Ltd., he was happy to sell an empire that included 1,040
restaurants (about a quarter of them locally franchised,) plus
520 motor lodges for a tidy $630 million. But the deal did not
bring lasting happiness to the Britons, and in 1985 they sold
Howard Johnson's to the Marriott Corp. Marriott, which owns
Bob's Big Boys, kept only about 400-odd company-owned Howard
Johnson's restaurants, which magically began turning into Bob's
Big Boy restaurants, and sold off the bulk of the empire to
Prime Motor Inns Inc.
</p>
<p> Marriott has little interest in Howard Johnson's
traditions. It prefers its own traditions, as exemplified by the
name of co-founder Alice Marriott. Last June it began giving
Bob's Big Boys in San Diego the new name of Allie's. "The
intention, long term," says a company spokesman, "is to convert
all Bob's Big Boys and Howard Johnson's to Allie's." While this
was going on, however, some of the old-timers who had obtained
their Howard Johnson's franchises from old Howard Johnson
himself were fretting about being sold from conglomerate to
conglomerate. So they hired onetime Attorney General Griffin
Bell to lead them into battle.
</p>
<p> This never came to court but came instead to an agreement
in which Marriott and Prime each put up $500,000 to enable as
many as 90 old-timers to incorporate in 1986 as Franchise
Associates, Inc. A year later, 54 of the licensees actually
bought stock in the new company. FAI now includes 137
individually owned Howard Johnson's restaurants in 26 states,
a far cry from the 1,040 of yesteryear, but still . . . And
although they don't all have all 28 flavors of Howard Johnson's
ice cream, an FAI spokesman admits, they all have at least 18.
Which indicates that if we can't preserve all the riches of the
past in this forgetful and conglomerate age, we can, with a
certain determination and a certain effort, preserve at least
some of them. Burma-Shave.
</p>
</body></article>
</text>