Of the Times
Photographs By Molly Block
The ongoing Roadside Relics project documents the fading presence of neon art on Texas’ highways and byways
hether it was visits to Snapka’s Drive Inn for hamburgers in her hometown of Corpus Christi, or midnight screenings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show at Houston’s Alabama Theatre in the early 1980s, some of photographer Molly Block’s fondest memories have one aesthetic marker in common: vintage signs. Specifically, the kind of midcentury relics that used to adorn so many cinemas, burger joints, and motel courts throughout the state. ¶ Today, those vestiges of a bygone era are in danger of extinction as chain businesses and commercial architecture more concerned with practicality elbow out the hand-forged neon that made any Texas road trip in the 1950s and ’60s a panoramic feast for the eyes. For posterity’s sake, Block sought to document that level of craftmanship starting in 2010 with the purchase of her first iPhone. On treks to visit family in Lockhart, Gonzales, and Hallettsville, she’d exit the highway and take backroads where there was a larger concentration of these radiant works of art. She even found an online community of like-minded “sign geeks” who travel the globe in search of the unique and patinaed. ¶ “There’s a degree of spontaneity to the project,” she says. “But at some point, I started to go on Flickr and do research through geotags. That’s how I found places like Marlin and Palestine, which are really cute towns with a number of old signs.” ¶ Within a few years, Block’s project became serious enough that she graduated from a smartphone and Instagram filters to a more elaborate Nikon camera, with which she’s shot hundreds of vintage signs across the American Southwest. Along with the Houston Center for Photography, her work has appeared in exhibitions as far away as the Griffin Museum of Photography in Massachusetts; the Museum of Neon Art in Glendale, California; and other galleries and venues throughout the U.S. and abroad. ¶ Of course, with a project of this scope, life can get in the way. The pandemic, a breast cancer diagnosis in 2023, and the hereditary degenerative neuromuscular condition Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease slowed some of Block’s progress—but she refuses to stop. In the relatively short amount of time she’s been at work chronicling these throwback pieces of Americana, dozens have been altered or torn down entirely. For one, the Alabama Theatre where she spent so many nights as a teenager watching Tim Curry perform as Dr. Frank-N-Furter. As the theater transitioned into a Trader Joe’s, the sign was repainted and the neon was replaced with LED bulbs. ¶ “It’s a subtle change, but it does alter its character,” Block says. “I like to shoot these signs during the day, so you can see the years of wear and tear. Even things like hurricane damage. It’s proof that they have really lived.”
—Chris Hughes
Molly Block was drawn to this sign in the Near Southside neighborhood of Fort Worth for its rare “S&H Green Stamps” inclusion. The long-defunct florist distributed the popular trading stamps from Sperry & Hutchinson, which could be exchanged for items like Pyrex casserole dishes.
Through a series of vintage postcards, Block has tracked the evolution of this Fort Worth sign. For instance, she learned that the rectangular “Motel” element at the top wasn’t added until 1955, a year after its debut. The eye-catching arrow was then affixed in 1959. Luckily, the current assemblage remains today.
To capture this shot in 2011, Block rented a room at Dallas’ Art Moderne-style Belmont Hotel, just across the street from the vacant lot. The sign remained at the site until 2013, when mixed-use development Sylvan Thirty moved in. Although initially removed, pieces of the sign were later returned as decorative elements.
A McKinney mainstay since 1956, Bill Smith’s Cafe has since relocated to Van Alstyne. With its off-kilter lettering and swooping arrow, the sign is a great example of space-age Googie design. “I loved eating breakfast at the original location,” she says. “I look forward to spending time in Van Alstyne with hopes of seeing the old sign.”
This Pegasus sign was the prized possession of a private petroliana collector in Jacksonville. The angle of this 2014 shot was achieved by dodging fire ants and glaring sunlight on his property. Block returned in 2016 to take more photos, but the sign had sadly been removed.
After temporarily closing in 2017, this iconic El Paso hamburger stand was resurrected by a group of local restaurateurs the same year. That’s good news for Block, who’s always wanted to park under its awning and enjoy a meal while looking at the neon flames shooting up the side of its sign.
A San Antonio original that has endured, The Rollercade was established in 1959 and is still going strong today. When Block shot this sign in 2018, dozens of people packed the rink to skate beneath its mirrored disco balls.
According to Block’s research, the sign at this Austin Tex-Mex institution is a replica of an earlier version. What hasn’t changed since the restaurant’s debut in 1952 is the addictive queso. “If Matt’s hasn’t made merchandise with a ‘Remember the Queso’ slogan—a la ‘Remember the Alamo’—I think it should,” she says.
This liquor store sign was moved from its former site in Addison to its current location in Dallas’ Upper Greenville area, where Block says she might’ve purchased a bottle or two of piña colada mix in the ʼ80s. What attracted her was the sign’s bubble-like circles and crowning sputnik. “It makes for a very eye-catching object visible from Greenville Avenue,” she says.
A beloved El Paso neighborhood bar since 1963, King’s X is a nexus for Pittsburgh Steelers fans looking to watch football over enchiladas and cheap beer. According to a KLAQ radio report, the crown on its sign only has three prongs because original owner Gilbert Aikman joked, “It was cheaper than five prongs.”
This photograph is a personal favorite of Block, who has a print of it hanging in her office. Not only does she love the sign—and the Houston diner’s comfort fare like milkshakes and meatloaf—but also the effort it took to get this shot. Built in 1967, it’s now bordered by the Gulf Freeway, which makes it difficult to get close enough for an unobstructed angle.
Block has a vintage postcard from this Bryan motel that dates to sometime in the 1970s. In 2016, she attempted to shoot the sign from the same vantage point to gain a “then versus now” perspective. A Texas Historical Commission Meridian Highway document dates the motel to 1955.
Blocks says she’d pass this sign in Wharton on family trips to Matagorda Beach in the 1970s . For decades, she was obsessed with the 10 kitschy concrete teepees that made up this 1940s motel. When it was bought and renovated by a Texas lottery winner in 2004, Block finally had the chance to stay there as an adult.
This fixture of the White Rock Lake area of East Dallas has whipped up its homemade root beer since 1956. The throwback “Ette” part of the name is what initially drew in Block, but even she—a person who doesn’t like sweet sodas—had to acknowledge the appeal of its signature drink. “I benefitted from taking a ‘when-in -Rome’ attitude,” she says.
Fittingly, this homage to one of the only adorable rodents is located in Grand Prairie. Situated on US 180, the restaurant has lured in travelers passing between Dallas and Fort Worth with its gluttonous burgers and fried catfish since the 1950s.
“I’m a fan of programmatic design, where the shape of the sign reflects the focus of the business it promotes,” Block says. There’s no better example than this Houston doughnut staple that has been in the Oak Forest neighborhood since 1963.
