Remembering Randall's Grocery Stores

 

If you grew up in Iowa anytime from the 1960s into the 1990s, you probably remember Randall’s.

Once a week, the entire family packed into the station wagon and headed to the grocery store. Mom followed the sales. Dad studied the steaks. But us kids. We made a beeline for the cereal aisle—Captain Crunch. Sugar Smacks. Applejacks. Count Chocula.

And if you were lucky, you got a nickel to ride the rocket or the race car in the lobby. Or maybe a few cents to blow in the candy aisle.

That was the kid’s perspective.

Randall’s wasn’t the biggest grocer in Iowa. It didn’t need to be. It carved out a solid spot, mostly in eastern Iowa, and did a good business by giving people what they wanted at a fair price.

When Elmwood Dairy In Clinton Brought The Milk To You

 

Elmwood Dairy was part of the routine in Clinton.

You didn’t think about milk. It just showed up. The truck rolled through in the early morning before sunrise. Bottles clinked. A crate hit the porch. By the time you opened the door, it was already there—cold glass, cream sitting on top, paper cap waiting to be popped.

Empty bottles went out. The driver grabbed them, dropped off full ones, and moved on. Same houses. Same route. Every day.

The milk came from farms right outside town. It got processed, bottled, and out the door fast. What you drank that morning hadn’t traveled far.

Chocolate milk tasted like a reward, not sugar water. Ice cream wasn’t mass-produced mush. And if you were a kid, that delivery box felt like a treasure chest when something extra showed up.

The milkman wasn’t a stranger. He knew which houses had kids, which ones needed an extra quart, and which porch had a loose step.

Killian's When Shopping Downton Felt Like An Experience

 

Before malls came along and pulled everything under one roof, you went downtown. Not once in a while. All the time. And if you were in Cedar Rapids, Killian’s was part of that trip whether or not you planned it.

You didn’t walk in thinking, “I need to buy something.” You walked in because it was there. Because everyone went in, and it felt like something was happening inside.

Enormous doors. That blast of cooler air in the summer. That department store smell—clothes, perfume, candy, all mixed together.

And if you were a kid, you weren’t thinking about shopping. You were heading straight for the escalator.

Up. Down. Up again. No reason. Nobody stopped you unless you got stupid about it. Same deal with the elevators. Half the fun was just riding them. If there was an operator in there, even better. It felt like you were getting away with something.

Three Fast Food Joints We Loved As Kids, But Have Disappeared

 

There was a time when fast food wasn’t something you just grabbed between errands.

 

You kind of had to earn it.

 

Long bike ride. Ball game. Wandering around all afternoon with nothing to do. Or hauling a pile of return bottles down the street, hoping you didn’t drop one and lose your lunch money.

 

Nobody talked about “the experience.” Nobody cared. You were hungry. You had a little money. That was enough.

 

Somehow it always tasted better because of that.

 

These three places stuck with me. They’re gone now. Most people wouldn’t even recognize the names.

 

But if you grew up with them, you don’t forget.

Three Iowa Grocery Stores From The Past You Probably Forgot About

 

A&P — The Giant That Felt Like Everywhere

 

A&P got its start in 1859 selling tea and coffee. By the time your grandparents were pushing a cart, A&P had turned grocery shopping into an art. Straight aisles. Neat stacks. Labels facing forward. Everything in its place.

 

It felt efficient. Maybe a little stiff. But it worked.

 

A&P pushed its brands hard. Eight O’clock Coffee. Ann Page. Those names were everywhere you looked. They were cheaper. People trusted them. And you could fill a cart and never touch a name brand.

 

People planned meals around their weekly ads. If pork chops were on sale, you ate pork chops that week. Simple as that.

 

Then things changed. Stores got bigger. Flashier. More relaxed. A&P felt old while everything around it felt new.

 

By the 70s it was slipping. By the 80s it was in trouble. It hung on for years, but the spark was gone. When it finally shut down in 2015, it felt less like a shock and more like the end of a long fade.

 

Still, for a long time, A&P wasn’t just a grocery store. It was the grocery store.