Small Town Chronicles: Meet Me at the A&W

If you saw a middle-aged lady shifting through a pile of broken bricks at the site of the demolished buildings on the north-east corner of M21 & M53, a month or so ago, you might be relieved to know that it wasn’t your mom looking for paving materials for her garden, although I wish I had thought of that then.

Instead, it was me chasing memories, piecing together elusive fragments of a bygone time. Those bricks, once part of a bustling drive-in diner owned by Don Capman, had been witnesses to countless summer nights filled with families in wood paneled station wagons, newly minted teenager drivers, looking all so cool, avoiding eye contact with their younger siblings who had just ridden up to the carport on the banana-seated bicycles.

The glow of the drive-in’s sign illuminated their faces as they placed their order through the chrome metal speakers, the skeeters invading through the car’s open windows on sweltering summer nights. It stood as a beacon of simpler times: the A&W. There the gravel parking lot was a stage of teen angst and love. Small town dramas could unfold at any moment and just as frequently small-town kindness could save the night. Under the hum of old-fashioned streetlights, a community found its rhythm. Cruising, they called it, a ritual of wheels and wonder, where each pass around downtown continued out on highway 53 to 21 to the A&W carrying with it possibilities of a new friend, a first crush, a rival or the perfect song crackling from the radio. The drive-in and parking lot carried a spirit all its own.

Each brick represented memories, scattered like relics, still holding the weight of shared experiences and small-town dreams. For those who grew up in the shadow of that corner, it wasn’t just a diner – it was the heartbeat of their adolescence. Generations gathered here to exchange news and share meals together. The bricks were artifacts of a vibrant culture that thrived in the parking lots and diners of small-town America. Those days were filled with revving engines, laughter, music and a keen sense of community. This was a tapestry woven not just of stories, but of hearts and hands that shaped an era – mechanics who tuned engines with the precision of an artist’s brushstroke, waitresses who balanced trays and dreams with equal grace and kids who saw their futures reflected in the chrome of a tailfin.

Although the building has been demolished, glimpses of those years are still in the dust of remaining pieces of mortar and stone. The carhop was never just walls – it is woven into the fabric of our past. Now long after its doors shut, I wandered among the ruins, searching for the perfect brick – my token from a sunlit childhood and teen years. I swear the smell of grilled burgers and crispy fries wafted from the phantom building. The pull of Nostalgia propelled me to make some phone calls when I got home that afternoon. I dialed old friends, letting spill into conversations like neon lights that spill across the parking lot on summer nights. Let me invite you into those stories, where the past hums softly, refusing to fade away.

Don Capman

When I called Mr. Capman – known to me as Missy’s Dad – he was as friendly as ever as we discussed the origins of the Imlay A&W carhop. I suppose now as an adult I can address him as Don; old habits are hard to break. According to Don it is believed the Imlay A&W was first operated by a man the name of Tucker in the late 1950s, then it was sold to a family from Capac, the Lathrops, who in turn sold it to Don and Joan Capman in 1965. After earning his Agricultural Business degree from Michigan State University, Don initially worked at Ford Motors due to limited opportunities in his field. He and Joan would often come up to Lapeer to visit his wife’s cousin, Tom Hoyt. On one visit Tom announced he brought a Root Beer Stand. Don’s response was: “Why the heck would you do that?” Tom had purchased the Lapeer A&W. He was doing rather good business and was driving a convertible. Don thought he would not mind that. So, when Tom told Don and Joan about the Imlay A&W, Don used his business degree to evaluate Imlay’s potential, noting its proximity to two major highways and the high school. Capman found the location ideal, the price affordable and Capman’s A&W was born.

Don explained that in the early days, carhops took orders at cars without speakers and served food on trays attached to windows. Customers signaled they were finished by turning on their headlights. The A&W only operated during the summer, and Don sometimes hired up to one hundred kids in a season – many stayed briefly, while some like Kathy Louwsma, Polly Godo, and Cris Cowell Timmer became managers. Employees did not get sick days; calling in sick three times a month meant losing the job. In a small town, it was hard to feign illness – Don once saw an employee who called in sick riding on the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle, clutching his waist as they went screaming east on M-21 later that day. Needless to say, the gal had a fever, all right. Boy fever. She was given a warning and told “if you are calling in sick don’t let me see you roar pass!” When employing teenage girls, Mr. Capman also assumed a paternal role, ensuring parents had approved when their boyfriends came to pick them up after clocking out.

When he acquired the “root beer stand,” the area was known for drag racing, but with help from Imlay City Police, the highway racing ended – though car cruising and cruising for dates continued. The teens generally behaved well, and police intervention was rare. Don recalled an incident involving an older teen who used inappropriate language, which was not permitted by Don. As a result, the police issued the young man, referred to here as “Harry,” a ticket. The following week, Harry returned and was notably polite, asking if he could drive straight through the parking spaces under the canopy. Although this act was against the rules – drivers were required to pull in straight and back out to prevent damage to the carhop’s equipment or their vehicles – Don allowed Harry to proceed because of his polite request. Subsequently, Harry drove his shiny Ford through and scraped the entire side panel of his beloved car. This event illustrated the importance of adhering to established rules, Don concluded.

Don and I then discussed our favorite classic A&W drink: ROOT BEER! The origin of the famous root beer is notable; it was produced in the basement of each franchise rather than at headquarters. Don explained that two batches were made daily. In a large vat, water, pure cane sugar and A&W’s proprietary blend of herbs, bark, spices and berries – an unchanged recipe since 1919 – were combined. The mixture was stirred by hand with a paddle for approximately 15 minutes. Afterward, the vat was securely closed and pressurized to generate carbonation. The tanks refrigerated the root beer to 33 degrees to achieve creamy foam at the tap. Finally, the batch was pumped up to the dispenser upstairs.

Another drink, which came up which I have never had was “Swamp Water,” I asked Don about this, and he said it was popular and in spite the name was delicious. The main components were A&W Root Beer and Orange Soda, often in a half and half ratio. Some variations included a pickle slice, sometimes described as “lily pads” in the drink. I told Don I don’t think I will try this any time soon.

A&W attracted both teens and families, especially after Little League games. My brother Dallas remembered a summer when teammates’ parents owned ice cream shops – Weinmann’s Dairy Bar, Charbeneau’s Ice Cream-and of course, Scott’s dad, Don, owned the A&W. That year, they rotated between all of them and enjoyed plenty of treats. Capman sponsored teams for decades and served multiple generations. One thing that never changed over the 30+ years was the strong family atmosphere among staff and customers.

In the early 1970s, there were 2,400 A&W locations nationwide, with Capman’s franchise ranking in the Michigan top ten for sales. By 1984, only 650 remained, many converted to indoor seating and new décor. Don and Scott Capman added a salad bar and fireplace to compete with a nearby Big Boy restaurant and create a cozy setting. However, business declined after I-69 opened and McDonald’s arrived, offering faster self-service and lower prices that attracted customers away from traditional drive-ins.

When McDonald’s opened a half mile from the A&W, business dropped by 50%. Scott Capman was then the manager of the restaurant said people used to cruise constantly. On weekend nights there was a steady line that snaked through town and turned around at the A&W. Gradually that line of cars thinned. Whereas the remodeling helped to retain the 25-40-year-old crowd, the ‘kids’ had vanished. The Capmans tried everything to get the kids back. In a 1984 interview, Scott said “I’ve done everything I thought was in reason. I gave the high school football and basketball teams free meals, and they’d eat here on the free nights and the next night head to McDonald’s. Amazing isn’t the word. It’s not like we get zero kids, but it’s close.”

Several other fast-food chains followed McDonald’s. Scott relocated to South Carolina and opened a pizza shop. The A&W franchise underwent changes, leading Don Capman, and his manager Cris Timmer, to discontinue the franchise and reopen as Cappy’s Diner in 1997. The diner hosted car shows and 1950s-themed events for a period before closing. Subsequently, the building was occupied by a bakery and later by a hair salon.

Next in Small Town Chronicles: Carhops memories. Contact Lynn at tct@pageone-inc.com