Go ahead, call Ed Hackbarth. But if you do, keep in mind that you have one minute to explain why you’ve got him on the phone.
It’s not that he’s uninterested in what you have to say. It’s just that, at 78, the man who founded Del Taco still has a passion – working at fast food restaurants – and your call is probably keeping him from doing it.
“I love what I do,” Hackbarth says. “The customers make me so happy.”
Fast food customers have been making him happy for some time.
In 1954, Hackbarth, an Air Force veteran, got a job managing Bell’s Hot Dog, a San Bernardino restaurant co-owned by Glen Bell, who went on to found Taco Bell. By 1961 Hackbarth was on his own, founding Casa del Taco (“House of the Taco”) in the tiny desert town of Yermo. By 1964 he’d taken on a business partner, David Jameson, and they soon started franchising. By 1973, they dropped “Casa” from the Del Taco name. And by 1977 Hackbarth, Jameson and a third partner, Dick Naugle, sold the Del Taco chain, which at the time was up to about 50 stores.
The sale made Hackbarth something of a demigod in fast food, part of the generation of self-made, Southern California food pioneers who did well before selling out to a big corporation. It explains the nice house in Dana Point and the comfortable life with his wife of 56 years, Marilyn.
What that sale didn’t do was end Hackbarth’s desire to stay in the game. He retained the right to develop Del Taco restaurants and, 35 years later, he still helps manage three Del Tacos in the high desert.
And that explains the commute in the truck.
•••
It’s going to be a busy Tuesday. Hackbarth plans to spend an hour at each of three Del Taco restaurants, all in Barstow, and that means a five-hour round-trip commute. The employees don’t know he’s coming.
“Let’s move!” he says, as he flings open the door and slips on his black, plastic framed sunglasses.
The man’s pin-neat appearance — polished, slip-resistant shoes; pressed black slacks; an ironed, yellow-dress shirt with his name, “Ed,” embroidered in red, just above his heart — mimics what he expects to find at the stores. Even his smile is perfect.
The first stop, long before Barstow, is at his office in a Corona warehouse. The building also houses gumball machines, freezers, steel tables and cake display cases. In his office one sees stacks of neatly-lined papers on an otherwise uncluttered desk, along with drawings of Del Taco prototypes and a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
After he grabs a water, it’s back to the truck and off to Store One, the oldest operating Del Taco, at the corner of 1st Street and Hutchinson, just a block from Barstow High.
“Hi everyone!” he says, cheerfully, as he arrives to find five employees behind the metal counter.
A young manager smiles back: “How are you doing, Mr. Ed?”
Soon, Hackbarth is standing in front of the taco bar, glancing at a computer screen and reading some details to himself: “Takeout … Spicy chicken burritos.”
He watches as an employee places three flour tortillas on the warmer. “She’s doing it the right way,” he says. “I am so happy to see that.”
He touches the tortillas, lightly, with his fingertips before flipping them. “You never want them to touch the palm of your hand or else you’ll get burned.”
Hackbarth shifts his eyes toward the walk-up counter, where a customer is placing an order to another employee at the cash register. “How are you, sir?” the employee asks.
“Fine. I want a macho burrito.”
“Is that for here or to go?”
“For here.”
When the transaction is over, Hackbarth pulls the employee aside.
“Nice job,” he says. “But remember, just ask, ‘Is that for here?’… You can save a lot of time by not saying, ‘to go.'”
Speed is something of an obsession for Hackbarth. He suggests to the employee another timesaver. “When you’re labeling drinks, you mark ‘D’ for Diet Coke, ‘C’ for Coke, and ‘R’ for root beer. You don’t need to (write) ‘B’ because if you’re filling up 10,000 root beers for the day, you’ll be saving 10,000 ‘B’s to write.”
Sensing the employees are correctly working, he soon places an order for a Del Beef Burrito. Within a minute, it’s delivered to his table, a level of service that’s standard at Hackbarth restaurants.
Taking one bite, he smiles. “This is right,” he says. He lines his index finger on the edge of the burrito. “The first bite should always have the meat and cheese together.”
It’s time to visit Store Two.
•••
“See that young guy over there? Go up to him and ask where the best Del Taco is.”
“That would be this one,” the young guy says, smiling. He’s Keith Hackbarth, Hackbarth’s 24-year old grandson, son of Jerry and Nell Hackbarth. Keith and two sisters, Veronica and Felicity, help their father and grandfather with the store, the busiest in the Del Taco chain.
Jerry, the fourth of five Hackbarth sons, cannot speak without smiling. When he isn’t busying himself behind the counter, he’s welcoming customers or he’s helping his father. “It’s a joy to keep up with him.”
Hackbarth walks over to an older woman preparing to leave. “May I take that for you?” he asks, reaching for her tray.
“Thank you, sir,” she says.
Many times, customers tip Hackbarth as they want to help the working older man. He accepts, but lets employees divide the money.
•••
“Store Three” is known for its walk-up business.
“One day, someone told me that there was a line for women to use the bathroom. So I knocked this and that down and installed more space for the bathroom.
“That’s why this one is so popular.”
Hackbarth grew up in Waupun, Wis., the ninth of 10 children. He says he took to fast food because, as a kid, he worked in a custard stand.
He joined the Air Force at 17. When he returned from North Africa, he went roller skating and, literally, bumped into his future wife, Marilyn. They moved to Victorville, where Hackbarth began working for Bell. Even as Taco Bell and Del Taco grew and competed, Hackbarth and Bell remained friends, until Bell’s passing in 2010.
Hackbarth recounts a story about Bell. It ends with the word “loyalty.” Then he glances at his gold Timex; it’s nine o’clock – he should be heading home.
But he’s not done.
He gets out his cellphone and calls his son. “Jerry, did you order that new shake machine, yet?”
“Yes, Dad, it’s on its way.”
“Good.”
He clicks off and heads out to the truck.
Contact the writer: kluppi@ocregister.com.
