Pity the disrespected spoon

spoonnThe late comedian Rodney Dangerfield and an eating utensil, the spoon, have something in common. Neither one gets any respect.

There are lots of problems in the world these days, and the complaint I’m about to share dealing with spoons is minor when compared to them. But it involves something that annoys me. And it’s something that can easily be remedied.

My beef? It’s the disappearance of the spoon from restaurant tables nationwide. I’ve been noticing that many restaurants are setting their tables with knives and forks but no spoons unless one orders soup.

I shouldn’t have to ask for a spoon but I often do because I don’t do well with baked beans, corn, gravy, cottage cheese and some other food items with a fork.

I’m a little shaky these days, and food often ends up falling off the fork back onto my plate or, worse yet, down the front of my shirt.

The lack of a spoon also is a problem when I order iced tea. I sweeten it with artificial sweetener, and the lack of a spoon causes me to stir it with my knife or fork. That’s tacky.

In the past, restaurants gave iced tea drinkers long-handled spoons to make stirring easier. But that often is no longer the case.

I’ve tried numerous times to figure out why many restaurants leave their spoons in the kitchen and put only knives and forks on the table. So I went to my computer and typed this question into Google: “Why do restaurants provide knives and forks but no spoons to customers?”

I didn’t find a good answer to that but I did soon learn that I’m not the only one who has a complaint about the lack of spoons. And to my surprise the complaint is not a new one.

A July 2008 post in a blog,, calls the lack of spoons an “aggravating trend” that started in chain restaurants and has moved into independent restaurants.

“The first few times it happened,” wrote the blogger, “I thought it was an oversight, especially when I ordered coffee later in the meal and was left with no way to stir in the sugar I added.

“But it is no oversight. It often happens to me in restaurants where they roll the silverware into a napkin or paper napkin. You don’t notice it until later in the meal when you need to spoon some sauce over a meat entre, etc.”

In January 2011, Tucker Shaw of the Denver Post wrote, “Dozens of visits to restaurants in Denver and beyond over the past few months reveal that the spoon, once a reliable fixture at the table, has become remarkably rare.”

I favor the opinion of someone Shaw quoted named Pat Perry, a chef and restaurant owner.

“We always set spoons,” said Perry. “As a cook, I love to see folks use their spoons to catch every last flavor. Spoons need to stay for those of us who love chow all the way to the last bite.”

And, I might add, for those of us who like to keep our shirts clean.

Copyright 2015 by Phil Roberts, Creative Enterprises. Submitted as a column to The North Scott Press, Eldridge, Iowa.

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Posted by on June 26, 2015 in Uncategorized



Commencement speeches — I don’t remember most of them

Do this. Don’t do that.

This is the time of year for commencement speeches. A time when speakers pass out tips to graduates who may or may not take them.

I’ve heard many commencement speeches over the years, but I don’t remember most of them. One that did stand out was a speech by Dr. A. Lynn Bryant, president of Marycrest College from 1981-1986.

He offered three rules for achieving success:

1. Don’t give up.

2. Don’t ever give up.

3. Don’t ever ever give up.

Greg Gutfeld of Fox News, one of five commentators on a talk show called “The Five,” recently used the program to offer some advice to graduates.

But he prefaced it by saying that college commencement addresses are usually garbage.

“They’re for colleges seeking publicity,” he said. “So you end up with a star hawking platitudes to an audience suckled on baby formula called ‘The Daily Show.’”

That, of course, is a generalization and not always the case.

Here are Gutfeld’s tips for grads, edited for length:

• “Take any job, any job you can find. Work your butt off for one solid decade — that will put you 10 years up on any pothead backpacking to Europe (or) videogame-playing drone….”

• “Also, ask dumb questions and listen quietly for the answers.”

• “Steer clear of pot. It’s an ambition zapper.”

• “Move somewhere with decent public transit so you don’t drive drunk and hit somebody.”

• “Scalpel your online footprint to a fly’s toe. Twitter is the contrail of life. When I’m hiring I don’t need to see your naked butt. … Real experience beats web activity. Everything is being filmed. So any public rant you do to a clerk at a shoe store — that scars you eternally.”

• “If you’re the person doing the hiring, forgive a scar or two. Remember that when we were young, we were also idiots. There were just no cameras there to catch it.”


My wife, Sherry, has an iPod, an iPad and an iPhone. I don’t have any of those. It’s my choice. I’m really quite happy with the technology of the 1980s — or prior.

A recent headline on the cover of Consumer Reports spoke of “smart technology.”

So I jokingly asked Sherry if one of my cassette recorders/players would qualify as smart technology.

“Do you know how to operate it?” she asked.

“Yes,” I proudly replied.

“Then no, it’s not,” she said wryly.

Copyright 2015 by Phil Roberts, Creative Enterprises. This piece ran as a column in The North Scott Press, Eldridge, Iowa.

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Posted by on May 27, 2015 in Uncategorized


Out of the blue: World War II photos of my dad

Philip Ingraham.

Philip Ingraham.


The platoon.

The platoon. I believe my dad is kneeling in the back row in front of the man without a helmet.

Philip Ingraham?

Philip Ingraham?

Philip Ingraham, left, and his men.

Philip Ingraham, left, and his men.

My dad, Ray Roberts.

My dad, Ray Roberts.

That may be Ray Roberts on the left in the back row next to Philip Ingraham.

That may be Ray Roberts on the left in the back row next to Philip Ingraham.

The man who is second from the left appears to be Ray Roberts.

The man who is second from the left appears to be Ray Roberts.

79thphoto3 79thphoto579thphoto6

“You’ve got a message on the answering machine,” my wife told me (on May 8). The call had come in while I was at lunch with some retired broadcaster friends.

I pressed the play button on the answering machine. A man from Connecticut who identified himself as Paul Gould said in the recorded message that he had acquired some photographs of soldiers from my father’s unit in World War II.

He said one of the men pictured was Capt. Philip Ingraham, for whom I was named, and he said he probably had photos of my dad as well. He left his phone number and asked me to call him.

I was stunned. I soon picked up the phone and dialed his number. Before I get into the conversation we had, let me give you some background.

My dad, H. Raymond Roberts, who died in 2004, was born and raised in Hannibal, Mo. Stirred into action by the December 1941 bombing of Pearl Harbor, he enlisted in the Army infantry in 1942.

In his World War II memoirs, written in 1999, Dad noted that the 79th Infantry Division was just being formed when he enlisted. “So I went straight to Company C, 315th Infantry of the 79th Division….”

His commanding officer and soon to be his good friend was First Lt. (and later Capt.) Philip Ingraham.

He “took care of his guys,” Dad wrote, and “that endeared him to his boys of Company C.”

But Ingraham lost his life in 1944.

“On July 4, we formed a line and advanced across a wheat field for maybe 200 yards to get to the hedge rows on the other side,” wrote Dad, who ended up a first sergeant. “We had no problem until we got to the hedge rows. There they were. The Germans were waiting for us. Capt. Ingraham told me to take a couple runners and go to our left behind the hedge row, as we were out in the open. I didn’t know how far he wanted us to go, so I stopped and waved to him to see if we had gone far enough.

“He raised his hand, and I saw him go down. I believe that was when he was shot. … The next day we had to advance over the same field we had lost the day before. That is bad because you know every place that a German could be and the possibility of finding bodies of guys you lost the day before.

“The Germans had moved out at night, so that was good. But we did find Capt. Ingraham’s body. He had been shot in the head. There were other bodies.

“I will never forget July 4, l944, and will never celebrate the Fourth of July,” my dad wrote. “You know, this is a good time to write about Capt. Philip Ingraham. He was a second lieutenant when he joined Company C in the states. He was with us for a long time. I worked very close with him as company clerk and communications sergeant.

“In combat I was always by his side and available when he needed me. He was the best officer under which I served. He always looked after his men in his company. He always told us to solve our own problems in our area but, if we got into trouble in town, he would do what he could. Conflicts within our company confines would not be reported but instead handled as a private matter in Company C.

“I had seen many guys killed but, when he went down, it really hit me very hard. He was so close that my son, Phil, was named after Capt. Ingraham.”

In a November 2011 posting in my blog, I wished my late father a happy Veterans Day and mentioned briefly how I got my first name. I also posted my father’s picture and one of Capt. Ingraham. It was that posting in my blog on the Internet that led to the phone call from Paul Gould.

He had purchased at a flea market some items, including the Army photos, that had belonged to a Philip Ingraham.

“I was trying to find out more about him,” Paul said. “There’s a whole bunch of photos in there I was picking through.”

An Internet search took him to my blog. He compared the photos of my dad and Ingraham to the soldiers pictured in the flea market photos. He then read about Ingraham’s death. “My heart sank when I read that,” he said. “After I read it, I felt this need to call you and tell you about it.”

Since that phone call, Paul has scanned and emailed to me a number of photographs, some of which do include my father and my namesake, Philip Ingraham.

I am thankful that Paul Gould bothered to do an Internet search. And I’m grateful that he cared enough to pick up the phone and call me.

“I felt like I had to,” he said. “It was the right thing to do.”

Copyright 2015 by Phil Roberts, Creative Enterprises. Submitted as a column to the North Scott Press, Eldridge, Iowa.


Posted by on May 13, 2015 in Uncategorized


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Oran Pape is being remembered

Oran Pape. ISP PhotoThe first Iowa state trooper killed in the line of duty has not been forgotten.

Late last month on its Facebook page, the Iowa State Patrol remembered the April
 29, 1936, death of Patrolman Oran “Nanny” Pape (pictured in the Iowa State Patrol photo), who died in Muscatine County.

Pape was traveling around 5 p.m. on April 28 on former Highway 61 near Fairport when he stopped a car he believed to have been stolen. As he approached the car, the driver, Roscoe Barton, a 23-year-old parolee from Davenport, pointed a gun at Pape and ordered him into the car.

As they traveled down the highway, Pape grabbed Barton and the two men struggled. Two shots were fired.

One bullet struck Barton in the head, and he died instantly. The other went into Pape’s abdomen and groin, seriously wounding him. But he was able to stagger out of the car and hail a passing vehicle for help.

He was rushed to Hershey Hospital in Muscatine, where doctors tried in vain to save him. But he died early the next day, the first member of the patrol to die in the line of duty and the only officer murdered.

Pape’s death made national news. One reason was his past success as a star football player at Dubuque High School and the University of Iowa. He also had played football for the Green Bay Packers and was a part of the 1930 NFL championship team.

In a page one story with a headline that read “Former Grid Star Killed,” the April 30, 1936, edition of the Lancaster (Ohio) Eagle- Gazette said, “State Highway Patrolman Oran H. Pape — former University of Iowa football star who has proved as heroic in a gun battle as he was on the gridiron — succumbed early today to a wound inflicted by a bandit he killed.

“The ‘climax runner’ of the Hawkeye eleven died after an emergency operation and a blood transfusion a few hours after he slew Roscoe R. Barton, 23, in a hand to hand fight yesterday.”

Iowans donated money to Pape’s widow after his death.

“Mrs. Oran Pape, widow of the first Iowa highway patrolman to be killed while on duty, will receive over $1,000 from citizens of Iowa as a token of their sympathy,” said a wire service article that appeared in the June 19, 1936, Alton (Iowa) Democrat and other newspapers. “The fund has been collected by a Des Moines newspaper and made up of donations from hundreds of Iowa persons.”

The Iowa Highway Patrol, now known as the Iowa State Patrol, was a relatively new organization when Pape served. Pape, who had badge no. 40, was one of the 50 original troopers.

An article in the October 18, 1936, Cedar Rapids Gazette noted that the patrol first started to function Aug. 1, 1935, and that its future was up to the next Legislature.

“It is not a question of whether the patrol shall be retained—that
has been pretty thoroughly settled by the first year’s record — but concerns the problem of expanding the organization.

“Advocates of the highway patrol, persons who have watched it function during the first year of life and noticed the decrease in Iowa traffic accidents, are demanding that the present force be at least doubled.”

In 2012, the Iowa Department of Public Safety (DPS) and elected officials honored the legacy of Patrolman Oran “Nanny” Pape by renaming the DPS Building the Oran Pape State Office Building.
Also named in Pape’s honor that year was the westbound Iowa 80 bridge over the Cedar River at mile marker 265.

Copyright 2015 by Phil Roberts, Creative Enterprises. This piece was submitted as a news story to the North Scott Press, Eldridge. Iowa, and the Advocate News, Wilton, Iowa.


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Indiana wants me, Lord, I can’t go back there

In April, my wife Sherry and I cleared a week’s obligations from our calendars and drove to Cheshire, Conn., to visit our oldest son, Brendan, and our grandson, Cade. They moved there last August from the St. Louis area.

Our visit was during Cade’s week-long spring break from high school, where he’s a freshman. The purpose of our being there was twofold: we wanted to see both of them and their new home, and Brendan wanted us to chauffeur Cade to his daytime baseball practices and games while he was at work.

We spent two days, April 12 and 13, driving to Connecticut. We visited the 14th through the 17th, then drove back April 18 and 19.

Gasoline prices through the states of Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York and Connecticut ranged roughly from $2.29 to $2.69 per gallon. We drove my wife’s 2012 Toyota Prius hybrid because of the mileage it gets. We logged a total of 2,200 miles and averaged 50 miles per gallon.

Our journey was uneventful with one exception. We took turns driving, and I soon discovered there was sometimes a problem on toll roads when I was behind the wheel.

One sits low in the Prius, and my arms are relatively short. Taking a ticket from an attendant when entering a toll road or paying the fee to an attendant when leaving a toll road was not a problem. But we found many of the tollbooths automated. They have no live bodies at work and are monitored by surveillance cameras.

A machine spits out a ticket when you drive up to enter the toll road. Then, when you leave, a machine requires the driver to put his ticket into a slot so it can be read. Numbers pop up in a window to tell you how much money you owe, and you pay by inserting cash or swiping your credit card in the machine.

That sounds like a great system, but I had one problem. The automated machines are fairly high so semi drivers are able to use them as easily as those in passenger cars. But a fellow like me, with short arms and seated in a low car, can’t reach the machines very easily.

So I came up with a plan. When I drove up to one of those automated machines, Sherry would climb out of the passenger seat, walk in front of the car to the machine and handle the transaction.

When the crossing gate (similar to those you see at railroad crossings) went up, I’d scoot through with the car and wait on the other side for her to rejoin me.

The first time we put my plan into effect didn’t go so well. We were in Indiana, and at first all was going according to plan. But when Sherry completed the transaction and swiveled to return to the car, the crossing gate dropped quickly right in front of her. She had no time to stop and ran into it. It broke off and fell to the pavement.

There was a line of vehicles behind us, and she was in no position to make repairs. So when I looked in the rearview mirror, she was picking up the crossing gate and nonchalantly placing it alongside the lane, like this was something she did every day.

When she got back into the car, I remembered and began singing a 1970s rock song by R. Dean Taylor. It’s about a man wanted by the law, and its lyrics go, “Indiana wants me, Lord, I can’t go back there.”

We never heard anything from the “crossing gate police.” So I’m guessing we’re not the first people this has happened to.

Copyright 2015 by Phil Roberts, Creative Enterprises. Submitted as a column to The North Scott Press, Eldridge, Iowa.


Life without Joe Hutter

page-0-3page-0-2IMG_1438 IMG_2525 IMG_2580 IMG_2595 IMG_2600 IMG_3324 copy Photo_8cuoceeuuk5fmdLife without Joe. That’s going to take some adjustment for me and many others.

Joe Hutter (pictured above), 77, of Bettendorf, died on April 18. He had experienced a variety of health problems in the last year but — until now — had bravely fought his way through them.

His obituary described Joe as a “retired Bettendorf police officer, two-term Iowa state representative, community activist and civic volunteer.” But to me Joe was much more; he was one of my closest friends. In fact, I thought of him as the big brother I never had.

Joe was born and raised in Dubuque. He graduated from Loras Academy and served in the Navy from 1956 to 1958.

He signed on with the Bettendorf Police Auxiliary in 1964 and was on the regular force from 1966 to 1994. He also served temporary stints as the city’s police chief and fire chief over those years.

Joe earned an A.A. degree in general studies from Black Hawk Community College in 1973. In 1977 he graduated from Western Illinois University with a B.A. degree in law enforcement administration. In 1978 and 1979, he taught law enforcement classes at Black Hawk and served as an advisor to the Scott Community College Criminal Justice Club.

Joe witnessed much growth in Bettendorf and its police force. He once noted in one of his Bettendorf News columns that in the early years of his police service, there were only 10 officers on the force, and he was the only one on duty Saturday mornings.

I met Joe in the early 1990s. Bettendorf police had made a big drug bust and hosted a news conference to discuss it and to show off the confiscated drugs. Joe attended the news conference on behalf of the police department, and I was there as a reporter for The Leader newspaper.

Our friendship began in 1993 when I was asked to join the Mississippi Valley Fair Board, where Joe had been a member since 1985.

Joe and I hit it off from the start. We enjoyed discussing any number of topics with each other in person, on the phone or over breakfast or lunch. If our wives didn’t accompany us to the annual convention of fairs and expositions in Las Vegas, Joe and I shared a hotel room. When we weren’t sitting in seminars, we were together, dining, walking through the trade show or touring the Las Vegas strip on a trolley.

When Joe decided to run for state representative in Iowa House District 82, I volunteered my time to write any needed news releases, including those announcing his regular Java with Joe meetings with his constituents once he was elected.

He aptly described himself in an August 2006 news release announcing his bid for re-election to a third term as an independent after losing by a small margin in the Republican primary.

“I have done a good job for my district and have been a strong voice for the Bettendorf area in the Iowa House,” he said. “I don’t play politics. I can’t be bought or intimidated, and people like that.”

But being an independent didn’t play well, his opponent outspent him and his re-election bid failed.

During each annual Mississippi Valley Fair, Joe and I spent lots of time together. Some of that was on a golf cart touring the fairgrounds. Joe would drive me around so I could take a variety of photographs for the fair’s archives and/or The North Scott Press.

It was always a long ride because it seemed everyone knew Joe, and Joe knew everyone. We stopped often for conversations. Joe was a people person and a good listener.

I considered every moment with Joe a gift because of something that had happened some years back. One evening he and his wife Barbara were in their living room when, without warning, Joe went into cardiac arrest. Barb called 9-1-1 and, as luck would have it, a Bettendorf police officer and his firefighter son were together in a personal vehicle near the Hutter residence. They heard medics being dispatched on their pagers.

The duo hurried to the Hutter house, performed CPR on Joe and kept him alive until help arrived. Had the pair not been nearby that night, Joe would have died in his living room. After that incident I called Joe the “miracle man.”

While Joe’s obituary lists many of his volunteer activities, it does not list some of the interesting jobs he held following his retirement from the police department.

He worked as a security officer for Burns Security in Bettendorf from 1994 to 1996. Joe also used to drive elderly people to their doctor appointments, and not just locally. There were trips to places like Madison, Wis.

He was head of security at Jumer’s Castle Lodge from 1996 to 1999 and was a field representative for the Better Business Bureau in 2000 and 2001. He later handled backstage security at the I-Wireless Center.

But the work I think Joe enjoyed most was writing columns. They appeared for years in the Bettendorf News and 50+ Lifestyle magazine. Joe knew no strangers, and interviewing folks was right up his alley.

Though Joe often wrote about interesting people, “everything and anything is fair game,” he noted in his first Bettendorf News column in March 2009.

Last November Joe couldn’t wait to tell me that he had been named publisher at 50+ Lifestyle.

“I will be writing in this column about anything that may help you or your family, such as information on assisted living, home healthcare, senior transportation and, in fact, even about people who are healthcare providers,” Joe wrote in his first column as publisher.

Since his death, I suspect Joe has been busy in heaven reuniting with Barbara, who died unexpectedly in 2003, and catching up with old friends who were waiting to greet him. And if there is a newspaper or magazine there, Joe has probably already applied for a job as columnist.

Copyright 2015 By Phil Roberts, Creative Enterprises. Submitted as a column to The North Scott Press, Eldridge Iowa.


Posted by on April 26, 2015 in Uncategorized



You’ll think you’re in Mayberry

The front of the house.

The front of the house.

Ellie, the official greeter.

A welcoming living room.

A welcoming living room.

Remember when TVs looked like this?

Remember when TVs looked like this?

A shot of the dining area taken from the living room.

A shot of the dining area taken from the living room.

Dave shows off Aunt Bee's kitchen.

Dave shows off Aunt Bee’s kitchen.

The stairs lead to three bedrooms on the second floor.

The stairs lead to three bedrooms on the second floor.

The television room on the second floor.

The television room on the second floor.

Opie's bedroom.

Opie’s bedroom.

Aunt Bee's bedroom.

Aunt Bee’s bedroom.

Andy's bedroom.

Andy’s bedroom.

Dave points to some of the artifacts in the Mayberry Courthouse.

Dave points to some of the artifacts in the Mayberry Courthouse.

The Sheriff's office looks just the way you remember it.

The sheriff’s office looks just the way you remember it.

The only thing missing from the jail is Otis Campbell.

The only thing missing from the jail is Otis Campbell.

Breakfast was served on china just like Aunt Bee's.

Breakfast was served on china just like Aunt Bee’s.

A scrambled egg dish was delicious.

A scrambled egg dish was delicious.

When you pull up in front of a nearly exact replica of Sheriff Andy Taylor’s house, you feel like you’re in the sleepy town of Mayberry, N.C., and you’ve stepped back in time to a simpler way of life.

Look at the wicker furniture on the inviting front porch of the Taylor house. You can easily visualize the cast of TV’s “The Andy Griffith Show,” which aired from 1960 to 1968, relaxing there on a warm, lazy Sunday afternoon.

Andy, a widower, is strumming his guitar while Barney, his cousin and deputy, and his son Opie, listen. Andy’s Aunt Bee walks out of the house holding a tray of glasses and serves lemonade to everyone.

But this isn’t Mayberry. This is western Wisconsin, and the house is the Taylor Home Inn Bed & Breakfast (, located 90 miles northeast of the Twin Cities.

My wife Sherry and I stayed there March 26. Sorting through some paperwork recently, I had discovered an old newspaper article about it that I had clipped and saved.

In 2003, Dave Scheuermann, the B&B’s owner and operator, built this faithful recreation of Andy’s house on six acres of land at 373 30th Ave., outside of the town of Clear Lake, population 1,052. Clear Lake is the hometown of the late Burleigh Grimes, a baseball hall of famer known for being the last player officially permitted to throw the spitball and the late Sen. Gaylord Nelson, the founder of Earth Day.

Dave was just 1 year old when “The Andy Griffith Show” first went on the air. Despite that, he is a huge fan and probably knows more show trivia than anyone you’ll ever run across.

It’s no wonder. To build his replica, he studied every one of the nearly 250 episodes to determine the layout of Andy’s house and how it was furnished.

He decided on the 12-foot width of the living room’s stone fireplace, for example, by counting the number of strides the sheriff took as he walked in front of it, figuring 3 feet for each step.

When you walk in the front door of the B&B, you’ll likely be greeted by Ellie Walker, Dave’s ultra-friendly pet Schnauzer. She is named for Andy’s first regular girlfriend, played by Elinor Donahue, on “The Andy Griffith Show.”

Then you’ll step into Andy’s living room, which looks exactly like it did on TV. It’s so familiar, you feel like you’re home.

A black rotary dial phone sits on an end table near the fireplace. And leaning against the fireplace is an acoustic guitar. A pair of Barney’s handcuffs rest on a small table used for registering guests. There’s a vintage RCA Victor black-and-white television. And on a piano near the stairs leading to the second level is a bottle of the “medicine” that “will fix any ailment” and made Aunt Bee loopy, Col. Harvey’s Indian Elixir.

On one side of the living room is the dining area with its familiar hutch and a Grandma Moses painting that took Dave four years to find.

The search for the proper furniture and accessories, Dave said, is “kind of like a scavenger hunt…. Where you find them is kind of interesting.”

Through an adjacent doorway is the kitchen where Aunt Bee prepared dinner and Barney stopped by for coffee.

Upstairs are three bedrooms — Andy’s, Aunt Bee’s and Opie’s — from which visitors can choose. All include a private bathroom. We stayed in Andy’s room for our visit.

Also on the second floor is a comfortable television room with satellite TV, afghans or quilts for cuddling, movies and vintage television shows on DVD, a variety of games, a refrigerator, a microwave oven and complimentary water and popcorn. Dave even served us delicious homemade chocolate chip cookies there during our stay.

One of the highlights for me in the Taylor house was the basement, where a replica of the Mayberry Courthouse has been constructed. It includes the office of the sheriff and justice of the peace, two jail cells and Barney’s simple sleeping room.

A replica of Wally’s Filling Station sits outside in back along with a putting green for guests who are golfers and want to practice.

Some woods are adjacent to the house, and it is surrounded by hay fields that provide cover for deer, foxes and other animals. Dave said he has even seen a bear from time to time.

Future plans include conversion of a 1961 Ford that Dave owns into a Mayberry squad car and construction of Floyd’s Barbershop next to the courthouse in the basement.

Celebrity guests at the B&B have included:
• Musician Rodney Dillard of The Dillards, a bluegrass band from Salem, Mo., that appeared as “The Darlings” on “The Andy Griffith Show.”
• Actor James Best, who is best known as bumbling Sheriff Rosco P. Coltrane in “The Dukes of Hazzard.”

The proprietor has food service experience, and that was obvious at breakfast time. He started us off with coffee, orange juice and a goblet of sweet yogurt topped with granola and fresh strawberries. He followed that with some warm rolls and preserves and a scrambled egg dish that included sausage and was topped with chopped green onions and melted cheese.

Everything was delicious, and the food was served on Blue Willow plates just like Aunt Bee’s.

Rates at the Taylor Home Inn Bed & Breakfast are $128 per bedroom per night. Dave doesn’t take credit cards, so payment must be made by cash or check.

If you want to stay there, make a reservation by phone at (715) 263-ANDY (2639) or by email at

Copyright 2015 by Phil Roberts, Creative Enterprises.

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Posted by on April 1, 2015 in Uncategorized


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