Joseph William Lacey

Joseph William Lacey was from the heart of Nebraska’s corn country, a place that still to this day takes pride in its county fairs and special events. It was during these county fairs when his grandmother won recognition for her sweet cornbread. Each year the family would pack up their truck and head for the fairgrounds with several baskets of homemade goods made primarily of corn meal. There were corn fritters, cornpones, corn biscuits, muffins, and the infamous honey cornbread; all of which were reasonably priced and sold out long before the events of the day officially started. Carolyn Johnson Lacey a.k.a. Grandma Lacey’s honey cornbread was always the first to sell out. There was such a demand for her baked-from-scratch delights, especially for the honey cornbread, that she found herself accepting orders for all of them.

Mr. Lacey, a.k.a. little Joey in those days, was her youngest grandchild and the only one she would allow in the kitchen while she baked. His very important job, so he thought, was to crack the eggs and grease the pans. “Look, Gran, not a bit of shell,” he would say as he proudly handed her his bowl filled with his accomplishment. “That’s good, Baby. One day, when you’re old enough, Gran is gonna give you her special cornbread recipe.”

As years went by and arthritis claimed the use of his grandmother’s hands, the now teenaged grandson continued to bake, but by then he was the one doing the baking while his grandmother just watched and barked out her instructions. Due to the constant demand for her products, the baskets she once used to transport her baked goods had to be replaced with large wooden boxes her husband Floyd, an amateur carpenter, built from wood scraps. In time, he realized the need for a permanent structure. Four walls with a poorly shingled roof quickly became a popular spot in the black community. But members of the white community were reluctant to enter the ethnic neighborhood; they preferred having their orders delivered directly to them. “If they want your cornbread bad enough, they’ll come to you for it,” little Joey insisted. And for a short while they did come; afraid to get out of their cars, they would pull up in front of the shack and honk their car horns. On occasion, neighbors would pass by and give them a friendly nod, only to have them roll up their windows and wait impatiently behind the protection of the glass. This insult did not sit well with the regular customers, and soon the situation became “them vs. us.”

Unable to satisfy both communities, Grandma Lacey decided she would concentrate on catering services during the winter and on her storefront business during the summer. During the summer months, electric cords could be seen running from the house into the shack to conduct power for the electrical fan, an essential for the sweltering heat. It was a sure sign of summer when the rickety little smokestack vented the aroma of Grandma Lacey’s hallmark. Eventually the cornbread business subsided, Grandma Lacey died and her husband  followed her three months later.  Little Joey inherited the recipe, started a franchise and became a very  prosperous man of Nebraska.