We Know Where You've Been
--Jason Radmacher

Never Forget Elsie
--Dana Timberlake McCarty

Why People Think Austin Jones Is A Restaurant
--Shelly "Timberlake" Jones

Everybody And His Brother Is Listening
--Susan Fey

The Front Door Step
--Doug Stiner

Listening To The Beatles On The Jukebox
--Mark D. Knight
Bridget Eilers:
   I am the granddaughter of Austin Timberlake, daughter of Don, his third son.  I have many memories...Papaw, Granny, and Uncle Paul. Too many to possibly list but here are few that do stand out.
   Papaw dipping ice cream cones out of the old freezer for me and my charge of course.
   Papaw sitting at the back table reading the paper and talking to customers...
   Going with my mom to help out during the lunch rush and feeling so grown-up when I was filling water glasses and restocking the silverware as it ran low....(you know all the grandchildren worked at some time or another, as well as six of the greatchildren.)
   Granny working the steam table in her white apron and shooing us grandkids out of the way.
   Uncle Paul workin' the grill, smokin' a cigarette and barking at us teenagers after the ballgames. And then enjoying those one-of-a-kind cheesburgers and fries with my friends as we rehashed the game and made plans for the weekend.
   Dad getting up Christmas morning to help fix free breakfast for those who would venture out and were more than likely not as fortuate to look forward to a day spent with family and close friends as we were about to enjoy. Jocko's was family, maybe the only friends and family some had. Feeling proud everytime I drove or walked past that little greasy spoon that meant so much to so many.
   And could anyone forget the aroma everyone who visited carried away...
   Unfortunately, the day Jocko's closed came suddenly and I was out of town and could not return to have one last cheeseburger...
   That corner of Corydon has been a constant our whole lives....we've never known anything to be on that corner but Jocko's. It's hard to go past that corner now.

Jason Radmacher, Corydon Central HS '93:
   Like countless others, my stories from Jocko's all occurred in the wee-early hours of Saturday and Sunday mornings, after high school football and basketball games. The latest defeat, in athletics or dating, always went down easier with a two cheeseburgers from Jocko's.
   What I remember most about Jocko's, however, is asking my mom why she and my dad never seemed to be too worried about where my friends and I were going after midnight on weekend nights. She told me, "We know where you've been. We smell Jocko's when you walk through the door."

Dana Timberlake McCarty:
   Jocko (Austin) was my papa (grandfather). I am one of Phillip's three daughters.
   I was devastated by the closing of Jocks, because I had so many great childhood memories from there. My kids, ages 10 and 6 were also upset by their closing, being that we ate there quite often. Your pictures were a wonderful reminder of uncle Paul.
   My best memories are walking down there from Granny's so that PaPa could fix us up a bag of candy and dip us an icecream cone to eat on the way home, and then going there years later with my boyfriend (now husband of 19 years) at 10 or 11:00 at night so that we could get a plate lunch from Elsie for a dollar. She always knew that I would want mashed potatoes to dip my french fries in.
   We should all never forget Elsie when thinking of Jockos.

Shelly "Timberlake" Jones
Lantzville, British Columbia:

   I am the granddaughter of the original Jocko and Phil's (youngest son) daughter . I have too many fond memories of Jocko's to tell you all but here are a few.
   As Bridget said all us grandkids worked there at some point in time. I remember spending many a Saturday washing dishes and clearing tables (I think I was about 10-12 at the time). I only wish that my kids could have had a chance to work there too. My son Austin (named after Papaw) gets called Jocko when we are in town visiting and we have to explain why people think he is a restaurant.
   The classic was the "breakfast club" on Saturday mornings. I remember the first time that Dad let me go with him. I was home from University visiting and we got up at about 6:00 am to go to Jocko's for breakfast. When I walked in there was quite a bit of debate about whether I (a girl) could sit at the big table with all the men (Paul, Forest, Donnie, Charlie, & Dad). After much debate and razing they finally let me sit down. After that everytime I was home I made sure that Dad got me up early enough to go for Tenderloin, eggs, and home fries on Saturday morning and then would go back later for a bag of sandwiches.
   I remember my sister Dana going in as a kid (I think she still did it) and ordering a cheeseburger, french fries, and mash potatoes. This was the only place she knew of where she could get both at the same time.
   We spent many a late night into the early morning after the ballgames and parties at Jocko's and could always count on Paul to fix us breakfast at 2:00am.
   Wherever I go I always try to find a greasy spoon just like Jocko's.

Susan Fey:
   I was good friends with Paul and Todd Timberlake's daughter, Mary Todd. Mary Todd is a sister to Craig and Paul Jr. (Jocko) Timberlake, so between hearing Jocko play at the high school sock hops and ducking into Jock's Lunch for a bite to eat, I got quite the Timberlake fix. I'm better for it.
   Jock's Lunch was THE place to go after ballgames. This was back during the OPEC crisis. This was when we wore bell bottoms. This was when the high school still provided fan buses. Seems like forever ago.
   I was always on my best behavior when I went there with a pack of friends. I was smart enough to know Everybody and His Brother might overhear about my antics, and even though I might not know them, they might know me and casually mention said antics to my parents. I knew Jock's Lunch was as much a social mecca as a springboard to getting busted for toilet papering a teacher's house, or whatever.
   I remember how much Todd was involved in serving up that food. "Bet your mom is a good cook," I told Mary Todd one day. "Bet you get that chili at home all the time." "You kiddin'?" she said. "Mom gets sick of being around food, so she doesn't cook all that much." I thought that was hilarious.
   Happy was the day I found out that a new generation would be taking over the old hang-out -- Jocko, Donna, Forrest, and was Steve a partner as well? I forget.
   I moved to Kentucky and didn't think much about Jock's until I returned to Corydon one weekend to visit my parents. I saw the "Closed" sign on the door. I'd seen that before. Remember The Elm? Lincoln Hills (aka The Greasy Spoon)? Mama Rosa's? Papa Don's? This closing was different, though. I was one of hundreds who'd made an emotional attachment to Jock's. It will be sorely missed.

Doug Stiner:
   Many years ago my Grampa would make a visit to downtown Corydon to drink coffee almost every morning. Jocko's was one of his stops. I was very young when he first helped me up on a stool beside him. I do not remember all the conversations, but I do remember the safety of knowing he knew the people in Jockos and they knew him.
   In my elementary school years, Mom would take my sister and I to Berlin's or Griffins for our school shoes. After shopping we would go to Jocko's for a hamburger and a soda, then over to the Fair Store for ice cream.
   As I grew older, it became tradition to go to Jocko's for lunch, after a ballgame or dance, or just to meet up with your buddies. It was the center of town, a meeting place.
   I guess what stands out in my mind the most is the front door step of Jocko's, that piece of stone smoothed out by the shoes of people. It is proof that Jocko's was a test of time and will always be remembered not only for the food, but for the many who walked through its door.

Mark D. Knight:
   My memories of Jocko's go back as far as I remember anything about life in downtown Corydon. My dad and grand-dad ran a business selling cars, trucks, farm tractors, Texaco products, and refrigerators and freezers in the Buchanan Building, at 119 S. Capitol Avenue. I attended Mrs. Umbreit's kindergarten in the basement of the Corydon Public Library on Beaver Street, and after class I was allowed to walk from the library to Capitol Avenue, and then south on Capitol to the family business. One of the first olfactory experiences I can vividly recall was the aroma of Jocko's as it wafted across Capitol at lunchtime. If you were ever inside Jocko's, you couldn't deny it to astute observers for several hours, as the odors permeated layers and layers of clothing. I guess it was part Pall Mall and Marlboros, part hamburgers and onions, and a lot of heart and soul of Americana.
   Paul Jr. and I were schoolmates, and my most vivid memories at Jocko's were on Thursday nights, after Corydon Junior High School basketball games. As soon as the games ended, groups of 11-to-14-year-olds would scamper down the sparsely-lit sidewalks of East Chestnut Street, hoping to beat the crowd and get a much-coveted booth seat at Jocko's. Elsie Mae Biddle was the chief grillmeister for the night crew, and she ran a tight ship. Hamburgers, french fries, chili and milkshakes were the predominant fare of the younger crowd (and, of course, the Fritos and Lays potato chips pulled from the hanging fixture near the door), and sometimes it seemed that there actually WAS some organization to the bedlam that too many kids in too small an area can and did create.
   Another aspect of Jocko's that apparently hasn't been mentioned previously was the presence of the counter-mounted "remote" units for the old Seeburg jukebox that used to sit in the far northeast corner of the dining area. Each booth also had its own "remote," and those Thursday nights had the junior-high kids feeding their nickels in to maybe hear the strains of the Beatles, the Monkees, or Herman's Hermits over the din.
   When I got to high school, it seemed that Coach Wood knew about the Saturday morning version of what's commonly called "Monday-morning quarterbacking." Back then, basketball was king of high-school sports, and the Saturday morning crowd was ruthless when the team lost on Friday night...and, apparently, sometimes they were ruthless when they won. More than once I heard Coach mention in health or P.E. class that, if the guys down at Jocko's could do any better, they were welcome to try.
   As I graduated and went on to college, a Saturday morning breakfast at Jocko's was an indication that Dad had grudgingly acknowledged that I was becoming "adult" enough to jon with the "regulars" once in awhile. It didn't convey the rights and privileges of being a "regular," but I could at least observe them. As I went on with my life and moved "uptown," when I married and had children I would periodically bring them to Corydon on a Saturday afternoon and treat them to some burgers and fries from Jocko's because I feared that they'd never otherwise remember what a "real" hamburger was supposed to taste like. (After all, while the flavor of a "Big Mac" IS truly unique, can anyone describe what the burger ITSELF tastes like? I thought not.)
   When my wife passed away a few years ago, I decided that the idea of raising two children in Clarksville--alone--wasn't very appealing. So it was that the allure of Corydon, with fixtures such as Jocko's and Donahue's and the other remaining vestiges of small-town America beckoned me homeward. One of the first stops I made was at Jocko's. Times had changed, for sure. Elsie May was gone, as were some other downtown fixtures like Davidson's Pool Room; Butt's Drug store had moved, and Jocko's main downtown competitor, the Lincoln Hills Restaurant (known to locals as "the 'Spoon, with its truckers and jukebox and pinball machines) had closed, supplanted by the upscale Magdalena's.
   Paul Sr.'s health wasn't so good, and Paul Jr. was working the late nights, closing early and then reopening to catch the breakfast crowds as the bars closed. It wasn't long until Paul Sr. was gone, and the hours of the business had to be cut to cover expenses. But the memories of Jocko's will forever be a part of the tapestry of historic downtown Corydon, etched forever in the memories of those fortunate enough to experience it, and forever puzzling to those who never were a part of it.