Everyone has a story to tell about Krystal burgers, even if you don’t care for them

When I was in the seventh grade, my family stopped at a fast-food restaurant that sold hamburgers by the sack.

It was a new experience for me. I had been raised on a steady diet of Shoney’s Big Boys and McDonald’s all-beef patties. At the time, there were no Wendy’s or Checkers. I had been to a Burger Chef, but not a Burger King.

We were there because my father was on a mission. He was determined to find the small, thin, square hamburgers (“sliders”) on steamed buns, like the White Castle hamburgers he grew up on in the Midwest.

It was the day we were introduced to Krystal.

My memories of those three-bite burgers, with a simple and satisfying combination of mustard, pickles and onions, reach back a long way. I reminisced about it last week after Krystal announced plans to file for Chapter 11 bankruptcy.

It doesn’t seem possible the South’s oldest fast-food chain, which was founded during financial woes of the Great Depression, could be losing millions of dollars during the longest uninterrupted period of economic growth in modern history.

I hope the company, which began in Chattanooga and is now headquartered in the Atlanta suburb of Dunwoody, can re-organize and keep those burgers, chiks and chili cheese pups coming from the kitchen. (Great place for breakfast, too.)

Eight years ago, I wrote a book about Macon’s most famous eating establishment, Nu-Way Weiners, the second-oldest hot dog restaurant in the country. I am convinced anyone who has lived in this city for any length of time has a Nu-Way story. I could have filled another book with those tales.

The same can be said about Fincher’s Barbecue, where there’s not a plate large enough to hold 85 years of pulled-pork memories. Waffle House and Krystal also are memory-makers for scrapbooks and storytellers.

Krystal never has been my favorite burger place. It is nowhere near the front of the line. But, like countless other folks, I have had my moments of weakness. A weekly or monthly Krystal fix can be a necessary splurge. To be truthful, a sack of 12 doesn’t always make it home intact.

In college, there was a Krystal across the street from my dormitory, convenient for those late-night munchies. When I began working at The Telegraph, the Krystal at the corner of Spring Street and Riverside Drive was only four blocks from my office.

I once wrote a story about a guy who was known as “The Krystal Kid.” He had eaten at Krystal every Thursday for 17 years. That dedication earned him a spot in the Krystal Hall of Fame.

Another time, I told the story of a local nurse who had worked at the Krystal in Warner Robins after she graduated from high school. She met her future husband when he and his buddies ordered 20 hamburgers at the drive thru window. Love at first bite? (She gave him her phone number on a napkin.)

Five years ago, I met a couple from Dodge County who drove 42 miles to the Krystal in Cordele for their anniversary dinner every year. It was a long-standing tradition.

Remember the Krystal on Vineville Avenue? It was a block from the Georgia Academy for the Blind. (It’s now American Faves & Mo.)

A generation of reflective Maconites once held court there every morning for 30 years. They called themselves the “Krystal Kritters” and were one of those “think tanks” that gather for breakfast and try to solve the problems of the world.

They cried a super-sized cup of tears when the Vineville Krystal closed its doors in the summer of 2008. Eventually, many of them moved on to the Burger King on Forsyth Road. (I will never forget that Krystal location for the times it served pink grits during the Cherry Blossom Festival.)

My most memorable Krystal experience was not my most pleasurable. In October 2006, I was asked to participate in at Krystal Square Off (square bun, get it?) at the Georgia National Fair in Perry.

As a crowd gathered, six of us competed to see how many Krystals we could scarf down in two minutes. My goal was to avoid finishing last. It wasn’t pretty. I only managed to down two tiny hamburgers in 120 seconds. So much for “fast” food.

It was a long time before I wanted another Krystal, but I would give anything for one right now.

Ed Grisamore teaches journalism at Stratford Academy in Macon. His column appears on Sundays in The Telegraph. Contact him at edgrisamore@gmail.com