The bright neon sign in blocky red letters still glows above Johnson’s Corner Restaurant and Bakery south of Loveland on I-25, but the space inside is gutted. It will be filled by a California chain eatery.
As I stand outside looking in, only the memory of those famous sweetly glazed cinnamon rolls remains. While restaurants come and go, this shuttering is a sad end for a nationally known Colorado destination that achieved mythic status the moment it opened.
When Joe Johnson launched the humble diner in Johnstown in 1952, the front door keys were reportedly buried in the freshly poured concrete outside. The truck stop would not close for decades to come, serving breakfast, lunch and dinner 24 hours a day, 365 days a year.
(Service was interrupted briefly in 1996 when Larger than Life, starring Bill Murray and Matthew McConaughey, was filmed there.)
In 1952, I-25 hadn’t even been built yet. That year, the New York Yankees beat the Brooklyn Dodgers in the World Series, the U.S. detonated its first hydrogen bomb, actor Jeff “Wicked” Goldblum was born and Coloradans saw their first TV broadcasts.
In the years to come, perhaps a million or more locals and visitors sat in those burgundy leatherette booths in Johnstown, sipping coffee and ordering platters of chicken fried steak.
In the mid-1970s, I “discovered” Johnson’s Corner as a Colorado newcomer. When I drove my stick-shift Chevy Malibu home to Boulder after a Bonnie Raitt show in Fort Collins, the interstate down to Longmont was surrounded by darkness, not suburbs.
But, long before I got to Johnson’s Corner, its bright lights were a warm beacon on the horizon. Back then, clean, well-lighted roadside oases were few and far between. Before cell phones and GPS, this was a place with pay phones and gas where you could buy a paper roadmap.
I remember the sound of the Kenworths purring, the highway whine behind me and the diesel perfume wafting as I walked in the front door.
It was like a portal into an alternate reality of chrome, linoleum and formica Americana. It came complete with a revolving glass display case full of pie and cake slices.
Cigarette haze hung over the booth I chose near the truckers-only counter where I overheard the road cowboys talk of avoiding speed traps and weigh stations and idiot drivers. They eyed me — a long-haired hippie type — with suspicion.
My table came with a tiny jukebox full of old country hits, chrome-topped sugar, salt and pepper shakers and plastic squares of grape jelly.
The vinyl-covered menu with an illustration of a Vermont covered bridge on the back offered middle-of-the-American road grub: No croissants, few salads and no garnishes on the plates. While far from farm-to-table, some nearby tables were filled by families from nearby farms.
A veteran waitress approached in a blue and white uniform with her hair up. She touched my shoulder, looked me in the eyes, smiled and said in a time-worn way: “What’cha need, Hon?”
She hand-wrote the order on a pad and literally ran it through the swinging doors into the kitchen. I listened to “She Got the Goldmine, I Got the Shaft” with the first of many cups of hot coffee with whitener (non-dairy creamer) in a china mug.
My meal of eggs over easy with hash browns and bacon arrived quickly as a weary family sat down in the next booth on a drive between New Mexico and Wyoming. The beauty of a highway diner like Johnson’s Corner is that you can order breakfast anytime and start your day (and life) over again.
The culinary coup de grace was one of the famous yeasted cinnamon rolls, a towering treat sided with a small pitcher of sweet white glaze.
I would return to this truck stop periodically over the years, if only to gaze at a framed copy of a column I wrote about the place. It was hung up near the restrooms along with articles from Gourmet and the New York Times.
About 10 months ago, a 74,000-square-foot Texas-born monstrosity called Buc-ees opened three miles south of Johnson's Corner with 116 fuel pump positions.
Truthfully, the Johnson’s Corner I remember was already dying a slow death a decade ago with reduced hours, poorly made food and disinterested service. Even the cinnamon rolls lost their allure once they were produced offsite in a commercial bakery.
The closing was almost inevitable given the dominance of national chains on our highways and shopping centers. Local independent eateries can’t hope to compete.
Back in the 1950s, Joe Johnson opened several Northern Colorado locations of Johnson's Corner, including one on Main Street in Longmont. That spot was eventually saved and moved to Longmont’s Prospect neighborhood. It is open now as a restaurant with artifacts where you can get a small taste of what Johnson’s Corner’s glory days were all about.