Growing up in Brownfield, Texas, we didn’t exactly live in the middle of the fine dining capital of the world, but on special occasions, there was one place in nearby Lubbock that felt like we’d stepped right into something special—the 50 Yard Line.
In West Texas terms, the 50 Yard Line was the perfect blend of “good food” and Saturday night ambiance.” It was the kind of place where the steaks came sizzling, the chicken-fried steak could hold its own with the best of them, and the moment you walked in, you knew you were in the place to be seen—whether you knew anyone there or not.”
What many people didn’t know was that the man behind the 50 Yard Line—and before it, The Gridiron—was Jerrell M. “Jerry” Price, a fellow Brownfield High School graduate. Price had starred in football at Texas Tech from 1948-51, been drafted by both the New York Yanks and Los Angeles Rams, and played briefly for the Chicago Cardinals in 1952 before trading shoulder pads for chef’s whites.
He opened The Gridiron in Lubbock, a restaurant with as much personality as its owner, and later launched the 50 Yard Line in 1979. For the next four decades, it became a West Texas dining institution. When it finally closed in 2019, it left behind more than just a menu—it left behind memories.
For me, those memories are baked right into their blueberry muffins.
They weren’t oversized bakery muffins. These were small, perfect, and carried the most inviting shade of blueberry you could imagine. Warm, tender, and somehow just sweet enough to make you take that second one without hesitation.
My mother somehow got ahold of the recipe, and right in the middle of it was an ingredient I’d never heard of—Butavan. A rich, buttery-vanilla flavoring that adds a depth that plain vanilla can’t match. Back then, it wasn’t on a grocery store shelf. The only way my mother could get it was through Jo Ann Cargill, who brought it back from Mexico.
Mother always said the hardest part of making those muffins wasn’t the mixing or the baking—it was finding the Butavan.
Years later, Carla got the recipe and made them often. They were always good, but Carla swore they weren’t the same. She believed my mother had a pinch of something she never wrote down—a dash of care and maybe even the warmth of a kitchen that had served countless friends and family.
Maybe Carla was right.
Here’s the thing about Thanksgiving: there will always be someone missing at the table. They were our Butavan—the ones who made the meal, the story, the charisma perfect.
Yes, you can still have blueberry muffins with butter and vanilla extract. They’ll be good. But they still won’t be Butavan.
It still won’t be Mother’s buttermilk pie.
It won’t be Dad’s story of the time they tried to beat the train and didn’t make it.
It won’t be Uncle Johnny’s story of cutting Robert Redford’s hair in Goldthwaite, Texas.
The Butavan makes it perfect.
In our families, in our teams, in our communities—we can be the Butavan. We can bring the little extra that makes the moment special, that makes the story worth telling, that makes the table feel full even when a chair is empty.
Be the Butavan.
More from Stan Leech’s Faith & Leadership column: For more of the Brownfield circle that shaped this writer, read Maybe So, on Jackie Cargill and the West Texas way of leading. For another scene from those same years, read The Snow Story.
