Rax Poetic: Despite all odds, Rax continues to survive
Aug. 27—EDITOR'S NOTE — This story is written in first-person journalistic style. While the reporter is telling the narrative, it's important to focus on the feature subject: Rax.
IRONTON How the heck does Rax stay in business?
The short answer is quite simple: the food is good. Not just good, but bangin' good — and for a decent value, too.
But the longer answer is a bit more complicated — the restaurant has soul.
Let's back things up a bit, to the late 1990s, early 2000s, when I was a kid. Every year, around the New Year, my family would ride up from the Eastern Panhandle of West Virginia to the Altoona area of Pennsylvania to get on this butcher's shop end-of-the-year fire sale.
Most years it was so cold outside, they didn't even bring a cooler — you could toss the meat in the trunk and it would keep.
On the way back from this journey — and for me, a trip of that magnitude was always quite exciting — we'd stop at a Rax.
I swore it was in Breezewood, Pennsylvania, home of the infamous internet meme depicting the overgrown commercialization of American highways. I've studied that image many a time, but I can't spot the Rax.
Anyway, my parents would hit up the salad bar — I think I'd eat the chili or something. Honestly, I can't remember what I ate, can't say it was a good or not.
But I do remember the store — a name like Rax is unusual.
When I was driving through Ironton a few years ago and saw their Rax was still open, I was amazed — the last time I saw a Rax was along the Ohio-Pennsylvania border back in 2012. I stopped in, had a roast beef — I think I hit them at an off-time, because it wasn't the best.
Being the obsessive type, I'd researched on the Rax and found out a few things — at its peak in the 1980s, Rax had 504 locations in 38 states, including several stores overseas, including in Central America.
The very first Rax was founded in 1967 in Springfield, Ohio, which was called "Jax" at the time. After getting sold off in the 1970s, the name was switched over to Rix, before finally landing on Rax in 1978.
In 1982, a young man in Lawrence County, Ohio, graduated high school named Rich Donohue. With hiring tight at the major employers back then like Armco, Donohue got on at the Ironton Rax.
From there, he worked his way up to assistant manager, he said. While he would end up doing other things — like selling ads for the Ironton Tribune — Donohue said he held down the job.
"I'm just a country boy from Lawrence County, I don't have a lot of money," Donohue said. "So I had to work for everything I got."
Rax didn't just support Donohue — in 1986, he met his wife at the Ashland Rax on Winchester Avenue, at the drive-through window. They've been married for years ever since.
In 1992, Donohue was laid off the Ironton Rax — he moved on to work at Lowe's, he said.
"The corporate stores were making a lot of cuts back then," Donohue said. "Instead of cutting at the office level, they cut at the stores. People who had been fixtures at these stores were gone."
The Rax Roast Beef Empire was facing some other pressures, too — competitors like Arby's and Wendy's (another Ohio-based chain who followed Rax's lead on serving baked potatoes and offering a salad bar) were cutting into the market space, with franchisees hopping ship and converting over.
In 1992, Rax took its first of a quite a few bankrupt laws. Then the chain rolled out a new spokesman — Mr. Delicious.
"A lot of people say Mr. Delicious is what killed Rax, but there were already problems there," Donohue said. "Corporate was cutting into the quality. It's just a lot of people, the last thing they remember about Rax was Mr. Delicious."
For the uninitiated, Mr. Delicious was the cartoon spokesman rolled out in 1995 to revive the restaurant's marketing, replacing the former mascot "Uncle Alligator."
Sporting a plaid jacket, spectacles and briefcase, Mr. Delicious was a middle-aged, depressed man looking for decent food at an affordable price.
For those not old enough to remember (after all, I was 3 years old when this ad campaign was in full swing), or have completely forgotten, here are some dandies from that campaign:
"When Mr. Delicious has doubts about his manhood, he goes for a beef, bacon and cheddar."
Referring to a midlife crisis: "That vacation he took to Bora Bora with his two young ... friends. Well, that left Mr. Delicious feeling empty and unfulfilled, unlike the robust sandwiches, baked potatoes and refreshing drinks on the Rax value menu."
"If you've ever enjoyed two-for-one night at The Rusty Anchor you know how dehydrated Mr. D must be. Some free Coke refills will hit the spot. Plus, a long, leisurely dinner at Rax will help him avoid the wrath of Mrs. Delicious, who isn't fond of The Rusty Anchor."
At the end of his monologue, Mr. Delicious would sign off "dickety-dee."
All this was paired up with the most bizarre slogan for a fast food chain — "Rax: You can eat here."
Fact-check me if you'd like, but this actually happened.
Now, at this point, you're probably wondering who Rich Donohue is and what role he plays in our story here — Mr. Donohue bought the Ironton Rax in 2002, 10 years to the day they canned him.
"I timed the closing day for that," he said.
Then he did one better — in late 2006, early 2007, Donohue bought the franchising and branding rights for Rax.
That's right — Ironton is the flagship store for Rax. and Donohue is the CEO of Rax.
From fry cook to board room, it all came full circle.
But when I connected with Rich this week, he was on the road to the Circleville store, to open it up and work there all day. Like many other fast-food establishments, Rax is facing a labor shortage. The CEO himself drives five days a week up there to open and close his store ± I doubt you'd see that on Wall Street.
What keeps Rax going? According to Donohue, it's the franchise owners, the ones who have stayed loyal to the brand all these years.
Take Joliet, Illinois.
That location was the fifth Rax ever — in terms of Rax, it's akin to the 20th Street Tudor's in Huntington. The Harlan location — the last in Kentucky — stays open thanks to the franchise owner keeping it going.
Another aspect is the nostalgia factor — people like me, who hadn't set foot in a Rax in 20 years.
"We get that all the time," Donohue said. "In fact, there's a YouTube guy named Pittsburgh Dad. I'm not a Pittsburgh fan by any stretch, always been a Bengals guy. But he drove to Ohio to visit one of our locations. So that's a big draw for people."
That nostalgia is a big draw — we at the paper threw out an all-call on Facebook to hear people's Rax experiences and for many, it was a trip down memory.
"I worked at Rax during high school. Worked the drive thru, front register and the salad bar. (Another local woman) would dress up as the mascot (an alligator) and we'd do birthday parties. We had a great time. The green polyester uniforms were not so great," one woman wrote.
"My wife and I had our very first date there in 1988. When I unwrapped the fork from the plastic wrapper, the center tines were missing. I tried eating my food bar stuff without her knowing but finally I started laughing about it. We're pretty sure it burnt down the next week! We've been married 33 years now!!" another man wrote.
"Rax has the best store bought barbecue sandwich. I wish Rax was back in Ashland again," another man wrote.
Will Rax ever have the footprint it did? Donohue doesn't think so.
"That requires a lot more money and investment than I have," he said. "But it does well enough to pay the bills."
Maybe Donohue's being a bit modest — the chain recently opened up a new store in New Carlisle, Ohio. Formerly a "Rancher's," the restaurant has been fully converted to Rax, with the exception of the sign — Donohue said that should be fixed up in the coming weeks.
Donohue even has his eyes on a Rax of the future, with fully remodeled stores that would be updated with a retro-vibe.
While my chat with Donohue and the nearly 60 messages from readers on Facebook somewhat answered my question, I had to go to Rax itself to find the answer.
As soon as I walked in, I felt like I'd stepped back into time — the only difference between the lobby in Ironton and how it would've been in 1985 is the lack of cigarette smoke.
The menu board had pictures of each platter, just like at a Chinese restaurant. Each photo appeared faded out, bleached from the light of the menu board.
The gentleman at the front — who'd been working there for 10 years on and off — was pleasant and took my order down with accuracy.
Asked him about the world-famous salad bar — he said it had closed a few years ago.
"COVID kill it?" I asked.
"No, it was a few years before that," he said.
I decided to go wild — hog wild. I ordered a up a roast beef and cheese, a BBQ sandwich, a twisty fry (with cheese sauce) and a Coke.
My boss bought some fries and a milkshake.
Upon inspection of the food, it looked OK. But we don't go to fast-food roast beef places for gourmet plating — the real question is, how did it eat?
It was good — really good. The fries were on point, spectacular. The roast beef itself was pretty good, although a dash of BBQ sauce on it would've set it over the top.
The BBQ sandwich was pretty dang good, too — I've had better BBQ, but for less than four bucks at a fast-food place, it was actually really tasty.
After scarfing that down, I bought a chocolate chip milkshake — it took me about 45 minutes to consume it, that's how thick it was.
But like I said at the top — Rax stays in business because it tastes good. That's the simple answer.
But what about the soul?
I found it at the Ironton Rax, too.
See, all around the lobby, there are plaques showing Rax buying the winning cow from the Lawrence County Fair over a few years. There are uniforms from Rock Hill, old pictures of the town and an Ironton Fightin' Tiger on the wall. A model train set. A jersey signed by Pete Rose, who wrote a personalized message to Rax and called it a "great place." That's the Hit King, folks.
Little knick knacks, like you're at home.
And that's the soul of Rax — it makes you feel like you're at home.
