The Jim Dandy, Broasted Chicken and a Polio Story
It’s a reader response week!
Several people mourned the loss of the Jim Dandy.
Sydney Susie noted that while her mother Barbara Heaton Servies Jerrell loved the Jim Dandy’s Jimbo sandwiches, she herself just missed out on the “cruising the JD” tradition. The big high school hangout in Sydney’s day was Ramsey’s Drive-In.
(People about my age and a little older may remember Ramsey’s. It was located directly across from the south entrance to Forest Park.)
Michael Kobrowski mused that he might have to travel to Tipton for some of Jim Dandy’s broasted chicken (although he says Erika’s chicken is great.)
About that broasted chicken . . .
When I first saw the term, “broasted chicken,” years ago, I assumed it was some marketing gimmick to sell plain old fried chicken, but in doing the Jim Dandy research, I discovered it’s a real process. The story behind it is actually rather interesting.
Broasting was invented by a Wisconsin businessman in the 1950s. Despite the name, broasted chicken is neither broiled, nor roasted. Genuine broasted chicken (it’s trademarked) is marinated in a special marinade, coated in a special seasoned coating and pressure fried in specially made commercial pressure fryers called (Surprise!) “Broasters.”
The first place I remember seeing broasted chicken advertised in Noblesville was Syd’s, back in the 1960s and ‘70s. When the second Clancy’s opened on State Road 32 in 1989, you could get broasted chicken there, too. (ONLY at that location, though. The original Clancy’s on 10th Street didn’t have it.)
Dana’s Pizza and Broasted Chicken, on Logan Street, east of the armory, also advertised it in the 1980s.
Today, the Midwest invention has spread all over the world. It’s especially popular in India, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Columbia and Peru.
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WHILE WORKING on the polio column, I ran across one victim whose story I wanted to include, but since I ended up concentrating on the 1950s epidemic, he didn’t quite fit.
This is my chance to bring him up.
Amos Horney was a nine year-old living near Hortonville when he came down with “infantile paralysis” (polio) in 1916. His was one of the cases that spread to the Midwest during New York’s 1916 polio epidemic.
Young Amos and his family were quarantined for around six weeks while he fought the disease, but he seems to have made a successful recovery. When I tracked down his 1992 obituary, I found no mention of his bout with polio, just an account of a rather amazing life.
The holder of two master’s degrees (chemistry and education,) and a doctorate in chemistry, he was a research chemist who’d worked both in the private sector and for government entities such as the Air Force and the CIA. He also taught at several colleges.
In addition, he “held several U.S. patents, many honors and contributed several articles to scientific journals.” According to the obituary, he helped develop sponge rubber for General Electric.
None of that probably would have happened if he hadn’t been lucky enough to beat polio on his own.
Nearly all the other children from this area who caught polio during that time period either died or were disabled. Reading about Amos Horney’s accomplishments makes me wonder what those other children might have gone on to achieve if the polio vaccine had been available then.
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FINALLY, SANDY Lynch, the director of the Hamilton County Historical Society Museum, is working on an exhibit featuring Firestone. If you have any pictures, stories about the factory, or Firestone-related items to loan for the exhibit, please contact her at [email protected], or stop by the museum. It’s open Fridays and Saturdays, from noon to 5 p.m.
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NOTABLE NINETIES Update: Kay Ziegler added Carol Stough of Noblesville to the list and Diane Nevitt added Barbara (Guilkey) Lawson, also of Noblesville. Congratulations!
Paula Dunn’s From Time to Thyme column appears on Wednesdays in The Times. Contact her at [email protected]