Commentary: The Rural Gas Station

By Anna Thompson Hajdik

Edward Hopper’s 1940 painting titled simply, Gas, is an iconic depiction of an isolated gas station – the type that a lucky motorist happens upon just in time as the needle creeps a little too close to empty. The red pumps catch the viewer’s eye and perfectly match the Mobil sign with its red Pegasus emblem. The station is portrayed as an island of civilization in an otherwise remote, rural landscape.

Growing up in a rural area five miles from any hint of “civilization,” I can relate to that lone station attendant in Hopper’s mid-20^th century modern rendering of solitude. I also think back to the many purposes these businesses served in the small towns that defined my upbringing. There was Food & Fuel, a favorite of my dad’s, in the county seat where he also worked. I’d go inside with him and beg for a bag of Cherry Slice candies or a King Bing candy bar.

On the opposite side of the county there was Allen’s Service, a rougher establishment that combined a vast and eclectic movie rental selection with a vast and much less eclectic live bait selection. A variety of characters would stop by Allen’s on their way to the nearby lake or to grab a cup of muddy coffee.

Gas stations have evolved significantly since 1940, as state and federal infrastructure investments prioritized the building of highways and eventually the mighty interstate system. By 1956, the Federal Interstate Highway Act guaranteed that the nation’s transportation future would be defined by automobiles and asphalt. Against the backdrop of such rapid development, there were winners and losers. For every Waco, Texas, a community that prospered and thrived due partly to its proximity to Interstate 35, there was a Sierra Blanca, Texas, which became a ghost town when it was bypassed during Interstate 10’s construction.

Parallel to the building of the interstate highway system, a key innovation revolutionized the gas station business – the emergence of self-serve gasoline. John Roscoe’s Big Top store opened outside of Westminster, Colorado in 1964, and became the first gas station that offered self-service pumping. Roscoe also combined this innovation with a convenience store that offered an array of snacks to passing motorists. Sixty years later, the self-service gas station is a reality in all but two states, Oregon and New Jersey.

Today’s convenience store landscape is dominated by regional chains. Depending on where you live, you’ve heard of them. Kwik Trip/Kwik Star and Casey’s in the Midwest, Sheetz and Wawa in the East and Mid Atlantic, Circle K and 7-Eleven out West, and Love’s and Buc-ee’s in the South. Most of these chains began in the 1960s and slowly expanded. They share small town roots and an enduring orientation towards serving the kinds of rural communities that are often deserted by hospitals, schools, and even grocery stores.

In the rural community of Hokah, Minnesota (population, 556), I’ve seen firsthand how Kwik Trip addresses a crucial need because it is the only business in town that provides residents dependable, regular access to fresh food. The town grocery store closed 20 years ago resulting in Hokah becoming a rural food desert. Kwik Trip’s arrival, about a decade after the grocery’s closure, meant that residents no longer had to drive six miles to the next town for essentials.

While most convenience stores are not considered reliable sources of fresh and healthy food, the fast-growing Kwik Trip chain stands out with a business model that emphasizes vertical integration of its various food products. Founded in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, in 1965, Kwik Trip operates its own in-house dairy, creamery, and bakery at its headquarters in La Crosse, Wisconsin, and famously sells bananas, potatoes, and yellow onions at a loss. It also sells a range of other fresh produce right alongside traditional gas station junk food. Kwik Trip’s emphasis on freshness, along with its full embrace of vertical integration, occurred in 2000 under the direction of former President and CEO Don Zietlow. Instead of relying on the sales of junk food and cigarettes, Zietlow concluded that longer term success for the company would come with in-house food and beverage production.

Consumers have subsequently embraced the chain throughout the upper Midwest, and Kwik Trip has been referred to as a juggernaut of convenience. It stresses an aggressive growth strategy that has prioritized the opening of locations in rural and exurban communities.

What Kwik Trip is to the Midwest, Buc-ee’s is to Texas. Much like Kwik Trip, Buc-ee’s origin story is tied to a strong sense of place. Founded in 1982 by Arch “Beaver” Aplin in Lake Jackson, Texas, Buc-ee’s has also embraced an aggressive growth strategy fueled by freshly prepared food, a toothy beaver mascot, spotless bathrooms, and an especially large physical footprint that complements a brand identity rooted in its “everything is bigger in Texas-ness.” It is known for its beef brisket and endless array of Buc-ee’s merchandise. Weary travelers flock to these outposts of cleanliness and Aplin’s profile as the charismatic founder has attained a mystique all its own.

In more recent years, Buc-ee’s has expanded beyond the boundaries of Texas, but in overall number of locations, it remains much smaller than Kwik Trip and the prolific convenience store chains found in the American West like 7-Eleven and Circle K. Even international journalists have taken note of Buc-ee’s, observing that it has become a cult phenomenon.

Buc-ee’s popularity has been tempered by critics who decry its environmental footprint and see the chain as a sprawling symbol of American excess. Case in point – its first location in Colorado, off I-25 north of Denver, is a 72,000-square foot behemoth that lights up the night sky for miles. In North Carolina, community leaders in Efland squashed Buc-ee’s plans, citing concerns about increased traffic congestion, potential pollution of a nearby watershed, and the “aesthetic sensitivities” of the proposed 64,000 square-foot convenience store.

Meanwhile, even as Kwik Trip is well-regarded in many small and mid-sized communities, it has yet to open a single store in Milwaukee, a city well known for its history of racial segregation and urban food deserts. In contrast, Madison, Wisconsin’s next largest metropolis, is home to 23 Kwik Trips. Over the last decade, independent gas station owners have also expressed their frustration with Kwik Trip’s seemingly unstoppable growth as it has expanded, likening the company to a “2-ton gorilla.”

Currently, the Kwik Trip and Buc-ee’s empires are on a fascinating collision course. Buc-ee’s will soon open its first location in the Upper Midwest, just northwest of Madison, Wisconsin, right off Interstate-90/94 near the fast-growing exurban community of DeForest. Once dotted by dairy farms and wheat fields, DeForest’s landscape is quickly changing to accommodate the growing population of suburban Dane County. In the same county, under the shadow of this new Buc-ee’s, Kwik Trip is building a massive distribution center, its first outside of La Crosse County.

Today’s gas stations and convenience stores are a far cry from those that inspired Edward Hopper. Hopper’s rendering of that solitary station attendant is a window into a slower paced nation devoid of interstates and travel plazas. While there are pockets of the country where Hopper’s vision remains true, it is increasingly the case that small towns and rural communities are served by a regional chain. Frank conversations about both the benefits of these businesses, like access to fresh food and job creation, along with the drawbacks of their unyielding dominance in the marketplace, should be had as these “juggernauts of convenience” continue to reshape the American landscape.

This article first appeared on The Daily Yonder and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.

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Previously Published on dailyyonder.com with Creative Commons License

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