Bishop's Buffet Was There, And Then It Wasn't

 

As a kid, you wanted McDonald’s. Maybe Henry’s. That felt like a win—bright, loud, fast, and fun. Instead, you got dragged to Bishop’s.

Not that Bishop’s Buffet was bad. It just wasn’t cool. No Happy Meals. No noise. No reason for a kid to get excited. It was where your parents and grandparents went.

You’d walk in already annoyed.

Then the smell hit you. Roast beef, fried chicken, rolls, gravy, something sweet in the background. That helped.

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.

Sterzing's Potato Chips Iowa Made In Burlington

Burlington, Iowa.Mid-1930s. The country’s in the middle of the Great Depression. Money is tight. Businesses are failing.

Barney Sterzing is trying to sell candy.

It’s not going well.Heat melts the product. People aren’t buying sweets. Sugar costs too much. Something has to change.

So he pivots.

Potatoes are cheap. Oil is cheap. Salt is cheap.

He slices potatoes thin. Drops them into hot oil. Lets them cook slow. Pulls them out crisp. Tosses on salt.

That’s it. No flavors. No tricks. Just chips. And people buy them.

Then World War II hits. Sugar gets rationed. Candy is done. Completely done.

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.

Book Review: True Crime in Lee County, Iowa

 

Lee County looks like the place where nothing much happens. River towns. Brick streets. People who wave when they pass you. Then True Crime in Lee County, Iowa by Robert Turek steps in and says, “Look closer.”

 

This book doesn’t shout. It leans in.

 

You get brothers turning on each other. Bank jobs that shake whole towns. Murders that don’t sit right, even years later. The cases that never really end—they just go quiet for a while.

 

What works here is the feeling. These aren’t distant stories. They’re close. Familiar. You can picture the streets. The houses. The neighbors who suddenly have something to hide.

 

There’s a steady shadow running through it all—the Iowa State Penitentiary. Old, heavy, unavoidable. You can feel its presence in the background, like it’s part of every story, whether or not it’s mentioned.

 

The writing keeps things moving. Clean. Direct. No wasted space. It gives you just enough detail to pull you in, then lets your mind do the rest. Some stories hit fast. Others linger, especially the ones without answers.

 

That’s the hook. Not everything gets wrapped up. Some of these cases stay open. Stay uneasy.

 

By the end, you start looking at small towns a little differently.

 

Quiet doesn’t mean safe.

William B. Allison Iowa Senator

William B. Allison took his Senate seat in 1873 and settled in like a man who knew he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

Presidents cycled through. The country lurched forward. Crashes. Booms. Wars. Allison just kept showing up, year after year, doing the same thing—watching, listening, waiting for his moment.

He wasn’t built for speeches. No table pounding. No grandstanding. While other senators filled the room with noise, Allison leaned back, counted votes in his head, and worked people one at a time. Quiet conversations. Closed doors. That’s where things actually got decided.

If you wanted to know where the actual power sat, you followed the money. And Allison had his fingerprints all over it. As head of Appropriations, he helped steer federal spending wherever it needed to go—or wherever he decided it should go. Rail lines, river projects, the military—nothing moved without passing across his desk.