The Chicken Ranch, a notorious brothel in La Grange, Texas, operated off and on from 1844 until 1973 and became a cultural icon, famously depicted in 1982 in the musical “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.”
She was my high school sweetheart—a gorgeous five-foot-ten-inch brunette with a body that commanded attention when she entered a room. We were a couple who knew we were meant for each other, and I started dating her in high school. Her name is Johnnie Lee, or just Jon. Having finished college, we got married, and I was eager to impress the sports world with my basketball coaching skills.
One of the best coaches in the game, Clifton McNeely, had been my teacher. He was a natural motivator, innovator, and teacher/coach who won many championships. He is in the Texas Sports Hall of Fame today and still holds many records. He was a Christian, and his faith played an essential part in his coaching.
Looking back, those early days were some of the happiest and most uncertain of my life. There was an electric optimism that came with youth and new beginnings—a sense of possibility that seemed to hum in the air as we built our Christ-centered future together. Every morning, I would wake up beside my wife, feeling like the luckiest man alive, ready to take on whatever challenges the day might bring. There was also a sense of camaraderie within the coaching community, a bond forged through shared ambition, late-night strategizing, and the knowledge that the influence of a good coach could reach far beyond the hardwood floor. I found myself constantly reflecting on the lessons Coach McNeely had instilled: discipline, integrity, and the importance of faith, both in ourselves and in something greater.
It was during this time that I landed a position at Spring Branch High School. The anticipation of finally stepping into my career, the dream I had worked for through those long hours on the court and in the classroom, was overwhelming. I was determined to prove myself—not just as a coach, but as a leader and a man worthy of the trust that had been placed in me. I credit Clifton McNeely with many of my habits, beliefs, views, and outlook on life. He positively impacted every young man he coached, earning him the title of the John Wooden of high school basketball. You will see how his influence followed me even into my first job.
Now, on with my story about the Chicken Ranch… I am newly out of college, twenty-two, married, and the father of our first son, Lee. My first professional job was as an assistant coach at Spring Branch High School in Houston, Texas. Like most fresh-out-of-college grads, I was “bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and a rearing to go!”
That first year, I was fortunate to be with another outstanding teacher/coach, and I learned a lot from him… about basketball and about life. (Oh boy, and how!) We lost the District Championship by two points that first year, which is not bad for our first year at Spring Branch.
So, the season ended for us. But Coach Burt and I had an all-expenses paid trip to the State Tournament in Austin, Texas. Coach Burt was driving his auto, and a sportswriter for a prominent Houston newspaper, Jack, and I were riding with him. I am excited because the University of Texas Gregory Gym was almost my second home, having played in three of those tournaments and watched my Pampa Harvesters in four more. The prospect of seeing many of my old high school and college teammates was also a source of excitement.
Well, we’re cruising along, and it’s around 6:30 p.m., and Coach Burt says he’s hungry for some chicken. Jack “chirps” in, “that would be great… How does that sound to you, Grif?” That sounded great to me since I wasn’t paying for it! Jack asked me if I had ever heard of the famous restaurant, “The Chicken Ranch.” I said no (and I was serious), and for some reason, they both chuckled! So, we passed a sign that said LaGrange, Texas, 2 miles. Then he takes this gravel road, and you can see this large white house with green shutters in the distance.
It was about a hundred yards off the highway. I was still looking for their “SIGN” when we pulled into the parking lot. Four autos set in front of the house, and I figured we just beat the 7:00 crowd. I mean…if this place is famous, where is everybody, and where is the restaurant’s sign?
So, we walk up to the porch, climb the four steps, and before we can open the door, it opens, and this middle-aged woman (50ish) says, “Howdy, boys, come on in!” Coach answered, “Hi Edna, how are you doin’?” He received a big hug, and Edna replied, “Well, hello, Coach…how in the world are ya’ doin’… how’s the wife and kids?”
Now it finally dawns on me that this is no restaurant featuring my feathered friends, that is, chickens. The overweight Madam was wearing a silk kimono in many bright colors and blue velvet slippers and definitely had on too much makeup and was showing a lot of skin — a real, shall I say, “Character.” As we entered, I saw we were standing in a dark foyer. Down a long hall, you could see a TV room with several women scantily dressed lounging around. We were ushered into a large room immediately to our right. There was a jukebox and several wooden slatted chairs lining the walls. The floor was wooden and well-worn from the many years that this place had been in business.
Before I could even find my bearings, the air filled with a strange mix of cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and anticipation. My nerves skittered as I surveyed the room, every detail reinforcing the uneasy realization that this was no ordinary roadside stop. Coach Burt and Jack exchanged glances, clearly more in on the joke than I was, their relaxed demeanor standing in sharp contrast to my growing sense of awkwardness. The house creaked with secrets of the past, and I could hear muffled laughter and distant music, suggesting a world far removed from the innocence of my recent college days. I tried to muster the confidence that had served me on the court, but beneath my good-natured bravado was a rookie in unfamiliar territory. The Madam, Edna, said, “Have a seat, gentlemen. I will go get the girls.” I thought, “Man, I’m in a heap of trouble.” As we sat down, you could hear the “girls” coming down the hallway with their spike heels clicking as they sauntered into the room. They were wearing elegant silk robes. All twelve of them made some remarks like... “Oh, aren’t you a handsome bunch!” “Hi, you sweet things, you.” “Well, aren’t you a tall one; I just love tall ones!”
I’m in total shock! Woo-e-e-e-e, you talk about ugly, overweight, overaged, hard-looking, smoking, painted-up ladies of the night. They all sat in the chairs across from us, each seductively crossing her legs, some winking at us, others lighting a cigarette. I remembered a verse in Proverbs that says if a woman winks at you, run from the room. Finally, after several seconds of silence, one of the “girls” said, “Where are you boys from?” I was about to say that we were from Spring Branch in Houston when Coach Burt hurriedly said, “We’re from over in East Texas…around Palestine, Texas.” I thought, “yeah, that’s good; cloak and dagger; don’t tell them anything.”
I didn’t want anyone from that group to visit me at home. I imagined trying to explain to Jon why there was a woman in my living room: “Coach Burt took me to this chicken place, but there was no chicken—just women entertaining the customers.” I sat uncomfortably, feeling like an outsider, a young coach caught between innocent and Texas back roads. The atmosphere felt equally strange and unsettling, and I doubted I’d ever tell this story without embarrassment.
Soon, the tempo of the evening shifted. Down the hallway, voices grew quieter, the lights seemed dimmer, and the music from there became the only thing holding back an awkward silence. My nerves finally began to settle, and—perhaps emboldened by the surreal absurdity of it all, I allowed myself to relax, if only for a moment. Jon would believe this…uh huh, sure, really!
Suddenly, I’m brought back to reality when Coach Burt says hello to this young girl, and with that, he takes her hand as they leave the room. Jack then walks across the room and, after a five-second hesitation, reaches his hand out, and the chosen one stands up, and they leave the room arm in arm. Uh-oh, I’ve got twenty eyeballs looking directly at me… total silence… I’m thinking, what would Coach Mac do? This answer came back, “Just wing it!” I nearly laughed out loud! No, he would tell me that my character would be tested, and I needed to show the group what a Christian would do. Finally, one of them said, “Are you a first-time customer?”
“Yes, um, I just came here to eat some chicken.” They burst out laughing… “I thought this was a restaurant…” More giggles… One of the girls said, “Well, sweetie, it kinda is.” That caused more laughter. One of them said, “Why don’t you and I go to my room and get better acquainted?” I said, “No thanks, I’m a happily married man,” and then… “Hey, would anyone like to see a picture of my one-year-old son?”
Wellsir, I guess they didn’t because they all got up in unison and marched out of the room, mumbling about what a waste of time. It hurt my feelings!
So, I’m sitting there alone and decided to check out the jukebox. I dropped a quarter in and chose five of my favorite songs… I Almost Lost My Mind, by Pat Boone; Memories Are Made of This, by Dean Martin; Moments to Remember, by the Four Lads; Hearts of Stone, by the Fontaine Sisters; and Hard To Get, by Gisele McKenzie. Then, as I’m about to sit, kick back, and enjoy the music, I see some movement out of the corner of my eye. I turn toward the entrance, and there is this gorgeous brunette, age eighteen to twenty-two, in a red silk robe, saying goodbye to a “gentleman” in a suit and tie. She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a big kiss on him. When they finally broke, he said, “I’ll see you next week,” and turned and headed out the door. “She must be from a special stock,” I’m thinking as I sit there. “Must be by appointment only and cost big bucks.”
The music played, and I tried to get comfortable in one of those stupid slatted chairs. Then, I hear the Madam, whom I’ve dubbed “Big Bertha,” coming down the hall, scooting along in her slippers on the hardwood floor. As she entered the room, she said, “I see you didn’t choose one of my girls…is there anything I can do for you?” I thought, “You’ve got to be kidding.”
But before I could answer, she said, “What I mean is, I have a few more girls that you might find to your liking.” I had just replied, “Thanks, but…not interested,”… when my conversation was interrupted as I heard Coach Burt rushing down the hall and calling out, “Jack, Grif, let’s go! Jack, we’ve got to get out of here… NOW”
I had stepped to the entrance, happy I could get out of this situation, and was nearly run over by Coach with Jack right behind him. They’re in various stages of dress, trying hard to complete the buttons and zippers, but never slowing down as we rush out the door, down the steps, and into our auto. Big Bertha, with hands on her hips, was standing in the doorway with a curious look. The car digs out, throwing gravel as we hurriedly leave. Coach tells us, “She recognized me!”
Jack says, “No, no way… she couldn’t possibly know you.” I’m sitting in the back seat, taking this all in; it’s like reading a novel or watching a soap opera.
Coach says, “She was a cheerleader at my last coaching job, and when we got to her room, she said, “Aren’t you Coach Burt from (blank) High School? I was a cheerleader, and I sure did enjoy your basketball games. I’m a junior at UT, and I use the Chicken Ranch as a means to help pay my way.”
“I gave her a hundred-dollar bill, kissed her on the forehead, and took off running!” Jack said he left in such a hurry that he forgot to pay. They laughed and joked about the “event” for another half hour.
So, it was on to Austin, where I witnessed several more “interesting experiences of human nature. As I mentioned at the beginning of this story, my darlin’ wife, Johnnie Lee, had those wonderful attributes. In 1957, she was in the Miss Texas Contest of the Miss America program. She had a lively personality and genuine inner beauty. Returning from my special weekend, I hugged and told her how much I loved her, appreciating how lucky I am to have someone who cares for me alone.
Footnote: The Chicken Ranch came into LaGrange, Texas, in 1844, when Texas was a “republic.” The first madam’s name was Miss Swine!! It got its name during the Great Depression, when customers were so poor that they paid the girls with vegetables, chickens, and other essentials. Thus, it derived its name.
The Chicken Ranch was officially closed on August 1, 1973, following a series of television reports by Marvin Zindler.
The brothel existed for 129 years. It became more infamous when a movie starring Burt Reynolds (Sheriff) and Dolly Parton (Madam) was made. It was known as “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.” There was a Broadway musical, a play out in Las Vegas, and a musical score on CDs, also.
