Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, February 14, 1995 TAG: 9502140106
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: RON BROWN STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
He's never had a rumble in his tummy.
As far as Texas Tavern goes, Williams is the voice of experience. He first took up residence on one of the downtown Roanoke restaurant's 10 stools back when Herbert Hoover was president.
Since then, the 75-year-old estimates that he has eaten three bowls of chili a week. He has no intention of slowing down.
``I'm spending more time down here now than I did when I was younger,'' Williams said.
As Texas Tavern celebrated its 65th anniversary Monday, he admitted some things have changed.
The stools, which he said once withstood an onslaught of lunchtime customers standing in line for a city block, are now teetering from wear.
``If they don't fix these rocking stools, we're going to have to wear seat belts to stay in our seats,'' Williams said.
The footrests, which once were solid metal pipes, have worn through.
Those imperfections serve as a living tribute to a downtown landmark that purports to serve ``1,000 customers, 10 at a time.'' Several dozen of the faithful crowded into the restaurant at noontime Monday to take advantage of its anniversary special, which offered hamburgers, hot dogs and chili at 65 cents.
Some things have remained the same over the years.
The bowl size has never changed, although the price has gone from 10 cents to $1.10, Williams said.
Williams was in junior high school when he first ventured into the restaurant, its legend built around chili, hamburgers, hot dogs and an original ground beef, egg and cheese concoction dubbed the Cheesy Western.
Isaac Bullington, who founded the business in 1930, would have bowls of chili ready for Williams and two friends who would sneak away from Lee Junior High School for lunch.
It was not a mission without danger. School officials said students were either to eat at school or at home. Bullington fed Williams and his friends in the back room so they could avoid detection.
Bullington, whose grandson now runs the business, made sure that Williams never went long without his chili fix, even when Williams was battling the effects of scarlet fever.
``He had the chili sent to me,'' Williams said, giving the chili at least partial credit for his recovery.
Doug Burford, a stockbroker with a hankering for Cheesy Westerns, said the food is only part of the drawing card.
``Food and fellowship'' are the reasons he cites for returning to Texas Tavern at least once a month for the last 50 years.
Burford, who has an eye for what makes businesses work, said he is intrigued by the efficiency of those who work the counter.
``They stay busy and get it all done,'' he said.
Dan Siler, who has been slinging chili for 37 years, has his own secret.
``All you have to do is act like you don't have any sense,'' Siler said. ``I'm just another dummy who works here.''
Despite those proclamations, Siler takes command of his grill.
He dips chili on his left, cooks Cheesy Westerns in the middle and collects money from customers on his right. He calculates sales tax in his head. He has no time to use a cash register.
Through the years, Texas Tavern has served as the feedbag for governors, congressmen, plumbers and electricians alike. Parents would bring their children, then their grandchildren, to share in the Tavern's rich tradition.
Even an erstwhile newspaper columnist, prone to midnight pool matches, would seek refuge there in the wee hours of the morning.
``Mike Ives turned into a Cheesy Western,'' said Gordon Barbour, the restaurant's manager who has worked there 41 years.
But the legacy of Texas Tavern is etched in the memories of customers who grew up around it.
``It was there when I was a kid,'' said J.L. Barik, now a police officer who walks a beat downtown. ``Everything [else] gets remodeled downtown. It's pretty much the same.''
Barik first went to Texas Tavern with his father on a Sunday afternoon en route to a movie at the Jefferson Theater, which closed long ago.
``They come in, generation after generation,'' Barbour said. ``Everybody has a different tale about this place. I guess in Roanoke, it's just like talking about the railroad.''
by CNB