Free In-N-Out Burger by Stacy Perman Page A

teenager itching to join the navy when Harry Snyder hired the restless young man to work part-time for him at the Baldwin Park In-N-Out Burger. By then the Korean War was in full swing, but Teagle, who was just sixteen years old at the time, had to wait several months until his seventeenth birthday had passed before he could formally enlist. “Harry offered me a regular job,” he explained. “But I told him that I was going in the navy and that I was just waiting until I was old enough. He was all right with that. He said, ‘We can use you for a while.’” Snyder’s casual reaction was something of an understatement.
    In just three years, In-N-Out Burger had become an unqualified success. Long lines of cars snaked along the gravel drive-through lane at all hours, frequently causing “burger jams.” It was a hometown hit that attracted customers from neighboring suburbs. Motorists on their way from one point to another often ended up at the little burger joint and not only made a point of returning the next time around but also began telling friends and associates about the tasty hamburgers being cooked up in Baldwin Park.
    The volume, the traffic, and the business generated by the boxy stand on Garvey Avenue was too much for Harry and Esther to handle by themselves, and the Snyders began hiring help. Harry seemed to be a shrewd judge of a person’s character, and he employed a handful of local young men to work in four-hour shifts. He insisted that they be well-groomed and wear a uniform of clean white shirts and aprons, capped off with paper cadet hats. Harry had high standards, and while he was bighearted he also expected his hires to toe the line—his line. “He wouldn’t put up with any foolishness or clowning around,” Teagle recalled. “And Harry always made sure that everyone was polite to the customers.”
    When it came to hiring female employees, however, Harry put his foot down. His objection came down to two words: “monkey business.” There was too much opportunity for grab ass and messing around, he believed. “No ‘foolishness,’ he called it,” said Teagle. “Things were different back then.” Clearly, Harry’s theory predated workplace guidelines on sexual harassment. Aside from Esther Snyder, females did not work in In-N-Out stores for another thirty years.
    Harry put Teagle to work right away, during the early evening shift from 6:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.m. “On a big night we’d sell two hundred burgers!” he recalled. “My first chore was to clean up the mess. The first thing I did when I arrived and the last thing before I left work was to pick up the trash and rake the gravel. The kids would come in their hot rods and there would be dirt gravel everywhere and ruts in the driveway. Harry wanted it smooth so that it would look clean and neat.” When he wasn’t out raking the gravel drive, Teagle could be found in a small room in the back where all new hires were trained. There he sliced tomatoes, peeled potatoes, and washed utensils and pans. “I did anything Harry needed done,” he said.
    In the early 1950s, when television ownership was still something of a luxury and programming limited to a mere few hours a day, Baldwin Park itself offered little in the way of hometown amusements. There was the Vias Turkey Ranch off of Frazier Avenue, famous for its huge commercial ranch and outdoor aviary, as well as the horse stables located across the bridge of the San Gabriel River that offered pony rides for a dollar an hour. But for the most part, the young people of Baldwin Park were left with long stretches of time on their hands; the tiny burger stand on Garvey quickly established itself as a local hangout.
    Open until 1:00 a.m., In-N-Out Burger became ground zero for Baldwin Park’s restive teens. There the kids parked, played their radios, sang, and danced. But Harry had no