Ozzie and Harriet Would Fit Right In : Soda Fountain Fan Runs the Real Thing

Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood” pours from the old jukebox while chocolate syrup is poured over a heap of vanilla ice cream.

On wire-backed chairs next to spindly legged tables, children and their parents pull thick malteds and root beer floats made with real ice cream--not ice milk--through thin plastic straws.

Two kids drop a dime on the marble counter and order nickel Cokes.

Someone slips another quarter in the jukebox and makes three more selections.

If Ozzie and Harriet walked in, they wouldn’t rate a second glance.

Clara Evans, one of the soda jerks, says she feels like she is back at the Muskogee Drugstore soda fountain where she worked in the 1950s.

Tony Petrik, the man behind this bit of Eisenhower-era nostalgia, smiles. That’s the reaction he was hoping for when he opened this soda fountain in early 1984 at the front of Petrik’s Drug Store on a downtown corner of Main Street.

“For 10 or 11 years, I was looking for some way to put a soda fountain in,” he says.

The idea has its roots in Weatherford, where the 39-year-old Petrik studied pharmacology. To pay for his education, he became a soda jerk at a Weatherford drugstore.

Because ambiance would be the key to his soda fountain, Petrik was careful to buy the proper equipment.

“I hate having anything new if we don’t have to,” he says.

The jukebox is a 1960 model. Much of the ice cream equipment is from a Broken Arrow restaurant that folded a few years ago.

He browsed through flea markets for other equipment, finding several Hamilton Beach malted milk machines.

“They built these machines so well, they never broke, so they quit making parts,” he says. Petrik has bought several to have spares in case of a rare breakdown.

Near the fountain is a refrigerated candy box from 1950. Behind its glass doors are boxes of chocolates.

A key to atmosphere is an antique wood back counter with a full-length mirror. Petrik found it in an abandoned drugstore.

“Any soda fountain worth its salt, the plates and cups and saucers don’t match,” he says, so he bought his here and there at flea markets, garage sales and the like.

Petrik likes to have people around. He likes to see them comfortable.

“Don’t believe a word this guy tells you,” one man says.

Petrik laughs, pleased. He enjoys a give-and-take with his regulars.

“We opened up and fully expected that if we did $25 a day, we’d be lucky,” he says. “We have been snowed since day one. I have come to the conclusion we’re the only tourist trap in town.”

While he talks, Ron Wayland is scurrying about behind the counter. The 17-year-old soda jerk adds marshmallow syrup to a Dr. Pepper, mixes a chocolate malt, pours chili over a hot dog and slaps together an egg salad sandwich, all without a second’s break.

“Never a dull moment,” he says.

When the fountain opened in the store Petrik has owned for 16 years, “soda jerks came out of the woodwork,” he says.

One of the soda jerks drawn to the fountain was Clara Evans.

“The first time I walked in here, it was like walking back to 1950,” she says. “This is the most authentic place I’ve ever seen.”

Others agree. Parents bring their children here to show them what a real soda fountain looks like. Other adults come in alone just to sit at the counter, sip a chocolate Coke and reminisce about soda fountains of their youth.

To add to the atmosphere, Petrik displays a collection of old medicine boxes and bottles. One is for Hood’s Sarsaparilla and the label boasts “100 Doses One Dollar . . . Makes the Weak Strong.”

Not everything is authentic, however. There are intrusions on the atmosphere, like the monster of a machine that processes color film in 27 minutes.