The oldest surviving McDonald’s, in Downey, California
My Real Memoir: An Ode to Hamburgers and Dads
Until I was seven, the longest walks I ever took were to a unique little burger joint called “McDonald’s.” Mommandad counted every penny in those days, and it was usually the only “restaurant” we could afford. Plus, our tiny, novice-level tract home was just blocks away, so we could walk there together. And since I wasn’t allowed to cross the street on my own, I considered it a grand adventure.
We eventually learned our inimitable little bistro was actually the second McDonald’s franchise inspired by the original in San Bernardino. But it became the model for every ensuing fast-food stand in the known universe. It still features the original double arches and Speedee the animated neon chef.
More importantly, though, it was where I learned to order a hamburger the correct way, “with mustard only.”
The way Dad did.
But we lived in a bigger-ish tract home now, in suburbo-sapien-booming Orange County. As a newspaper dealer, my father worked seven days a week, so “just-me-and-Dad” moments were almost exclusively tied to the newspaper biz.
Ticky-tacky tracts were popping up everywhere, each with a brand-new lawn just waiting to sprout, and a newlywed couple just waiting to subscribe to the Herald-Express. So, every other week, Dad would round up his most enterprising paperboys, which included me, and we’d knock on front doors. Think of us as younger, cuter Jehovah’s Witnesses.
By now, my tranformation from shy kid to “clever kid” had turned me into a quick-talking hambone with an irresistible grin (practice makes perfect). Result? I nearly always claimed the night’s “Most New Subscribers” bonus. Which was great, but putting money in my piggy bank wasn’t my goal—it was putting the look of pride on my father’s face.
Afterward, Dad would take us to a McDonald’s knock-off called Sam’s Burgers, where I’d order a cheeseburger “with mustard-only.”
Just like Dad.
We’d eat and laugh, just me and Dad, and, oh yeah, the other boys. But honestly? It seemed like no one else was even there.
Hamburgers aren’t my favorite food anymore. Although, I do appreciate a well-grilled gourmet edition with fresh and inventive toppings. But every now and then, I’ll order a greasy burger-stand burger “with mustard only.” Because when I do, somewhere deep in the Magic 8-Ball window of my memory, it says,
“Just me and Dad.”
To read My Real Memoir from the start, click here. To read the next episode, click here.
What a great reminder of youth and how those sharp memories were implanted. Many of us have these memories, and they are foundational. Being a dad is so important, and the role gives back in such amazing ways too.
🧡
This is a fantastic memory of simpler times. Isn’t it cool how a ‘greasy burger’ can bring back suck great memories of times with your dad.
Thanks, Ernie. And, yes, food is a powerful memory trigger.
“Just me and Dad.” A great tribute Mitch.
Thank you, Brian. 🧡
Sitting in a cafe, on the cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean. And reading. “Just Like Dad” My mind races back, I am a small kid, my Dad is in the bathroom shaving….. singing…. same song every day, “What do you know, she smiled at me in my dreams last night!” Just looked it up in Google, Doris Day and Les Brown Band…..Now back to now and finishing my coffee. Thanks forvthe trip.
My pleasure, Geoff.
What a special “Just like Dad” reminisce.
Thank you, Cindie.
There’s something quietly powerful about the way you tell this story — how a simple “mustard-only” hamburger becomes a doorway back into a world where a kid is just trying to catch a glimpse of his dad’s pride. The details you choose — the long walks, the paper routes, the laughter at Sam’s Burgers — make the memory feel lived-in, not polished.
What struck me most is how those small rituals become anchors. A burger stand, a grin, a father’s approval — ordinary moments that end up shaping the deep places of who we become. Your tribute captures that beautifully. It reminds us how the simplest habits and places can hold the weight of love.
Thank you for sharing a story that feels both nostalgic and quietly sacred.
🧡
And, Wiley, your review is pure poetry! ‘memories that feel lived-in” “small rituals become anchors” “the deep places of who we become” “hold the weight of love” Elegantly delightful!
Food is such a connector isn’t it? When I crave a hot fudge sundae, I think of my Dad (his favorite ice cream treat).
Nothing better. 🧡
Thanks for this fun memories post, Mitch. Something that jumped out at me was your use of “ticky tacky” to describe the houses. I know the song, “Little Boxes” well.
Yep. Pete Seeger at his snarky best. ;>)
And written by the irrepressible Malvina Reynolds.
What a special piece, Mitch! ❤️
Thank you, T❣
Irreplacable memories
What a lovely tribute! Your heart feels fuzzy & warm whenever you think of the ‘good old days’… Truly a special memento one should save in their pocket! Thanks for the story!
BBB
My pleasure, BBB!
I love the cherished moments you shared about your dad and the nostalgia they generate! 🙂
🧡
McDonalds would probably like to make this into a commercial…it’s very Americana, something we can all relate to but for me it’s Blakes Lottaburger :0) with Hatch green chili…
Sounds great, Pamela.
omigoodness, yes. Blake’s Lottaburger! I lived in Albuquerque age 12-18. Yum! Also, Mac’s Steak-in-the-Rough.
I lived there in the 70’s and I remember Mac’s very well but for the lime aid ;0) and then there’s the Dog House downtown and some really good places that don’t exist anymore, like Silviano’s
What a great memory, Mitch. Mustard will always make you smile.
I’ve branched out since then, Jennie. ;>) But I still like mustard on patty melts.
I know you have, but the memories are always there, like glue. Mustard glue.
A very good memory of times with your dad!
Those things that make us think of Dad are special
Who would have thought the a McDonald’s would become a piece of cultural history. Great shot Mitch, i love the design of the place. So much nicer than the bland places they throw up here in the UK.
“Throw up” sounds like an intentional double entendre, Ian. ;>)
Nice. Burger stands were certainly a staple of our generation, eh? My family was similar – we seldom went to actual ‘restaurants.’ In fact, the closest thing I remember were the ‘smorgasbords’ that were fairly common in central Illinois (where we lived we I was age 6-12; I was born in San Diego). Our most common ‘restaurants’ were Burger Chef, Dog n Suds, or for a slightly more upscale experience, Steak n Shake.
I have very similar memories. We too had very limited funds. My dad worked two jobs. A special treat was McDonald’s. My younger sister and I shared a .15 cent burger and a small fry. I can’t remember if we had a pop but it was so fun to go. There was no place to eat inside. It looked very much liked the photo you posted. We would go to the counter to order. Only remember my dad ordering, never my mom. Thanks for reminding me of such a sweet memory.
My pleasure, Anonymous friend.
We had a Golden Arches in my town. I was a filet-o-fish fan. Haven’t been to McD since —gosh—20 years?!?
My neither, Pam.
Love the futuristic Jetson arches 🙂 We used to have a now defunct HB chain called Wetson’s where I grew up. Featured strawberry milkshakes with your burgers. Used to love it when parents random;y decided to head there for dinner.
Wetsons. 🚀 ;>)
I remember going to McDonalds almost every Friday during Lent. As a Catholic we didn’t eat meant on Fridays so those fish sandwiches were a treat! I have not had one in years!
I’ve always wondered why Catholics don’t consider fish meat. Is that still true, Jennifer?
We didn’t have McDonalds in Texas until the 60s or 70s, but I still eat one once in a while. We had Dairy Queen, which still makes a good burger. yeah, we had fish sticks too, even though we were Southern Baptist, go figure that out.
We got our first DQ when I was a teenager, and I went there every week for a while.
When I was a kid my family never ate out, but once in blue moon my dad would stop by McDonalds on his way home from work and pick up a bag of burgers. That was the only time my poor overworked mother ever got a night off from cooking, and we kids considered those burgers the ultimate in fine dining.
;>)
Going to the library and McDonald’s was a once-a-week treat when I was a kid. I rarely go to McDonald’s anymore because the food is too expensive and the portions have shrunk.
Life is all about special moments and special moments usually are simple. Great writing.
Thank you, my friend.
Great piece!
Thanks, Kevin!