When We Loved to Curb Our Appetites

They met on the assembly line at North American on the wing of a B-25 bomber. Around midnight, when the swing shift ended, they sometimes went on a date. Romance bloomed and, in 1943, they were married.

Years later, Olivia and Alphonse Heimann would tell their four children about their World War II-era courtship in Los Angeles. About burgers at Patmar’s open-all-night drive-in in El Segundo and such places as Pan American Gardens in Culver City.

Jim Heimann, 45, a Culver City graphic designer and urban archeologist, had fond recollections of his parents’ tales of L.A., about the drive-in and the culture it spawned. He yearned to “re-create something that for my generation never really existed.”

For 15 years, he’s been excavating prime archeological sites and sources--swap meets, antique shops--and collecting old scrapbooks, menus, matchbook covers, postcards and photographs. All this for “Car Hops and Curb Service,” a fond and funny look back at this very American institution, scheduled to be published by Chronicle Books next spring.

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Once, Heimann says, “There was a drive-in in virtually every town and city in the United States.” California and the drive-in were meant for one another. We had the climate, the cars and the attitude.

The eat-in-your-car thing began, he’ll tell you, in 1921 at the Pig Stand near Dallas. A few years later, Tam o’ Shanter on Los Feliz Boulevard introduced it to Angelenos.

The ‘30s and ‘40s saw an explosion of drive-ins. At their zenith in the ‘40s, they were a center of social life for the young. Where they went to see who was dating whom, to linger over a Coke and fries with ketchup.

In high school, the drive-in was about cruising. It was not a place to be seen with your parents, God forbid. And it was not a place to be seen inside.

To rifle through Heimann’s memorabilia is to journey back to a time when a Bob’s Big Boy double-decker with salad and fries was 65 cents and a shrimp cocktail might set you back 45 cents.

The slogans said it all:

Really Good Food Right in Your Car. Home of Chubby the Champ. Beautiful Girls to Serve You.

Heimann loves the menus, which were almost as rich as the food. Henry’s, home of Chicken in the Rough, featured a golfing chicken in plaid plus-fours.

It was possible to get a salad at a drive-in (pineapple and cottage cheese, most likely), but calories and cholesterol abounded. Everything was fried.

One wartime menu patriotically pushed war bonds next to an apology for food shortages: “Our chef is doing his very best.” And, oh yes, “Please do not ask for extra serving of butter.”

The drive-in was more than just a place to eat. It was car hops in bell-bottom pants and nautical jackets or snappy braid-bedecked military outfits that became scantier as the years went on.

Drive-ins starred in films such as “American Graffiti,” which looked at coming of age in the ‘60s with roller-skating car hops. But, Heimann says, “I’ve never found documentation that there were roller-skating car hops.”

Nonetheless, gimmickry did abound. At “The Track” on Beverly Boulevard, customers pushed a button to order their food, which was delivered car-side by conveyor belt. It wasn’t a big hit. After all, car hops were one reason for going to a drive-in.

There were circular drive-ins, neon-lit Art Deco drive-ins, streamlined drive-ins with lines like the convertibles.

Perhaps the ultimate gimmick was an Indiana fly -in, for private airplanes.

“It was kind of a grand experience,” going to the drive-in, Heimann says, “all kind of romantic.”

The first car hops were men, but it wasn’t long before owners discovered that a little cheesecake sold a lot of malts and shakes.

At one place in Texas, car hops were glittery majorettes who marched in cadence to loudspeaker music. House rules dictated that they carry their trays at ear level--and no flirting with the patrons. Violators served car hop KP: Napkin-folding duty.

Still, it was seen as a glamour job. In 1940, a car hop made the cover of Life. Westways described car hops as “belles of the boulevards.”

In truth, they worked for mediocre wages (or just tips) and some had to pay for their own uniforms, as well as broken dishes.

“Car hop” wasn’t just a catchy moniker. At one time, Heimann explains, they were expected to run out and hop onto running boards. “There was a mad dash to see who could get the customer.”

Partly to amuse patrons, car hops and cooks devised a lingo of their own: a “slashed cow” was a plain burger; a hot dog was a “bum pup.” Milk was “Sweet Alice.”

By the ‘50s, the drive-in was losing its luster. Families felt menaced by the kids who’d hang out there. The same space could be put to more profitable use as storefronts. But ultimately, says Heimann, “Fast foods killed it.”

In and out, no socializing, no lingering. No car hops needed.

In March, 1984, Tiny Naylor’s at Sunset and La Brea called it quits. It was L.A.’s last real drive-in.

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With “Car Hops and Curb Service,” Heimann hopes to put this cultural icon into “historical context,” to set the record straight for those who think that today’s retro-restaurants are what it was all about.

But even as he laments the death of the drive-in, he acknowledges that “I was definitely part of the problem.” He recalls how, growing up in Westchester, he and his high school friends would cruise from the A & W on Hawthorne Boulevard to the Wich Stand at Slauson and Overland, car radio blaring.

“We just cruised,” he says. “We never spent.”

Alas, They Weren’t Belles of the Ball

In last week’s column, we visited the team of model Ina DiGrazia and florist Duane Rose as they readied their “Southern Romance” fantasy for Friday’s Las Floristas Floral Headdress Ball.

Alas, they were not the winner. The sweepstakes trophy went to “Mardi Gras,” an extravaganza in gold and white created by Maxx Cooper of Stanton and modeled by Sally Hazen of La Canada Flintridge.

* This weekly column chronicles the people and small moments that define life in Southern California. Reader suggestions are welcome.