This week Carol Ann Robb has contributed a story that fittingly celebrates Kiwanis Pancake Day's 75th anniversary. - J.T.K.
As a child growing up during the 1960s, Christmas season always began on the first Saturday in December—the day of the annual Kiwanis Pancake Feed. Once we had those delectable hotcakes, it was time to get ready for the holidays.
My father, Arthur Robb, was a member of the Downtown Kiwanis Club that met at noon on Thursdays at the Besse Hotel and held different jobs associated with the Pancake Feed. One of the earliest in my memory was Egg Procurer. Yes, back in the day the meal included eggs alongside the ubiquitous pancakes and sausage (links, not patties), and one year it was up to Art to find a source for all the eggs needed to feed the masses. I remember sitting in the back seat of the car as we drove to a farm east of town so he could secure who knows how many eggs.
The doors of Memorial Auditorium opened early with the first batch of pancakes being served at 6 a.m. This was long before the renovation of the building so the main level was transformed from an auditorium into a kitchen and dining area consisting of rows of tables. This meant most of the seats were removed from the main area just below the stage. In my mind’s eye, I can still see, hear, and smell the scene: smoke swirling upwards to the ceiling, the sound of the large gas grills firing up, the sizzle of eggs and sausage cooking, the low rumble of conversation, and the tantalizing aroma of those amazing pancakes. My mother was an excellent cook, but her pancakes were no match for the ones served on that day.
After our breakfast of pancakes the size of dinner plates washed down with glasses of milk, my sister, Elaine, and I moved up to the balcony, where we enjoyed the various acts on the stage while our parents worked below. At this time women weren’t allowed to join Kiwanis, so members’ wives were recruited to do what women have always done—wash dishes. Yes, those pancakes were served on china plates and eaten with proper silverware that needed to be washed. We watched the women in their June Cleaver dresses as they cleared tables, replaced syrup and butter on the tables, and if lucky, sit down to roll silverware. Neither Elaine nor I can remember where the dish washing took place but we’re sure it was the women who did it.
At some point in the day, we would take a break by walking over to Broadway to begin our Christmas window shopping, making sure to hit Wheeler’s Hobby Shop. Watching the train in their front window was as much of a tradition as eating pancakes. Then it was back to the Auditorium for more entertainment and another round of pancakes before the event ended, twelve hours after the first pancake was flipped.
For several years Art was in charge of lining up the entertainment, so we’d often make our way backstage to watch the acts from a different angle. One year Aunt Jemima made an appearance, and I remember tagging along when my father drove her over to Girard to Elm Acres to visit the kids living there. There were years I performed with my class from Velma’s School of Dance. Years later, I returned to the stage as a member of the PHS jazz band. Then, like now, entertainers were paid in pancakes.
This Saturday will again find me entering Memorial Auditorium, inhaling the aroma of pancakes and sausage that takes me back to an earlier time. Many things have changed since then, but one aspect has stayed the same—those are still the best darn pancakes in town.
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