Galloping Gerties has always catered to the soldiers stationed at nearby Fort Lewis, and some of the soldiers were so regular that menu items were named in their honor. Take, for example, the Ron Jones special. It consists of S.O.S. over pancakes with syrup, eggs, limp bacon and an English muffin spread with marmalade and peanut butter. All of these ingredients are mashed together and served on a plate. The $5.99 meal is fit for a king, and was named after a former Army special operations elite with the 72nd Ranger Battalion.

In the restaurant sit four GIs, enjoying the meal that George, the cook, has prepared for them. One of the soldiers realizes his turkey club and grilled chicken breast sandwich is fried. “It’s supposed to be grilled,” the drunken soldier yells at waitress Juanita Jinright.

Jinright has no time for such shenanigans, as she has a test the next day at Evergreen State College, and needs to study. Now annoyed, Jinright comes over to a table, picks up a menu, shakes her head nonchalantly, and goes to George to inform that yes, it’s supposed to be grilled. It’s another long day for Jinright, but also another day of continued Fort Lewis service for Dirty Gerties, as the locals call the place.

The less-than-sober GIs happily eat another wonderfully screwed-up dinner while discussing the intricacies of how the Pittsburgh Steelers are going to crush San Diego on Monday Night Football. The neighboring local retirees sip lukewarm $1.30 cups of coffee. Since the time of the gladiators, sports have been the international language of the fighting warriors, connecting immortal freshly shaved babies only days out of high school with war-wearied old veterans, who never considered themselves heroes. This is just another normal day for Galloping Gerties, located in Tillicum, Wash.

Galloping Gerties first opened its doors to the Fort Lewis community in 1952, when Gertie Rothwell used to slave over the black grill slab, cooking hundreds of hamburgers for her men. Gertie created a restaurant that combined her two loves: soldiers and horses. The establishment has not changed in 53 years.

Gertie herself put up most of the memorabilia that still hangs on the walls. The Longacres’ race-board replica hangs over a picture of Gertie standing next to a horse that had just won her $100, a lot of money in 1955. There are photos of horses and owners strategically placed above each booth along the walls. Her longest-lasting legacy has to be the 18th Century-style ships she painted on the ceramic tiles that are randomly placed throughout the men’s latrine. One wonders if the pee stains on the toilet seats were placed by Gertie as well.

When Gertie died, her children, Rod and Sue Rothwell, took over as managers and upheld the traditions she started. Soldiers preparing for deployment to faraway lands like Korea, Vietnam, Kosovo and Iraq have not paid for their meals during the years. They eat for free, while the aristocratic commanding officers pay the tab at the end of the month. Juanita points out, though, that alcohol has to be purchased by the soldiers. “The officers love their soldiers, but not that much,” she says, with a hint of a smile crossing her lips.

Old veterans still huddle with future cannon fodder to talk about how to “get home” in Gerties’ second dining room, right under the Miller Light poster. Jinright has heard many of these speeches, and is getting tired of them. She doesn’t like war, but doesn’t have a say, so she does what she can to appease the brave men about to head overseas and overfeed the guys who just came home.

“I had a guy come back from Iraq and he had two separate meals in one sitting,” she said. “Soldiers come in to get their last home-cooked meal before shipping out, and it’s so sad to hear that they can’t (eat) over there. I wish I could feed every last one of them.”

Jinright knows that if the chow halls had a 1,000 of her, the soldiers would shoot a little straighter, sleep more comfortably in their fighting vehicles, and not come home in a coffin. Or so she hopes – George’s fish platter was a favorite meal of a soldier who died in Iraq.

No parent plans to die before his or her children and Jinright hates to see the young Joes die before her. But Gerties will always survive, as another fresh generation will walk through its doors, sit down for a Ron Jones special, and add to the memories that have graced the establishment’s presence for so long.

“I wouldn’t have any other job in the world,” Jinright said.