TUSCALOOSA, Ala. —

In 1958, within a week of each other, two larger-than-life-sized men who would become Alabama icons officially opened for business. The Bear and Big Daddy.

On Sept. 27, 1958, Paul "Bear" Bryant's first Alabama team led LSU 3-0 at halftime before the eventual national champion rallied for a 13-3 win. Six days later, Oct. 3, John "Big Daddy" Bishop served his first slab of ribs at Dreamland BBQ.

Fifty years later, this remains the perfect union of pigskin and pork.

"If Alabama had an official restaurant, this would be it," University of Alabama senior Tim Chandler said. "Look at the walls. You see Coach Bryant's photo. Coach (Nick) Saban. Coach (Gene) Stallings. It's the best ribs in the world, and it's all from a cee-ment shack."

And it's arguably the best college football joint in the land. Indeed, doesn't every college town have one place where fans gather religiously for food and fellowship, football talk and adult beverages? Yet few, if any, can touch Dreamland.

Just ask Chandler, who sat alone in a booth on a recent weekday. "I've eaten Memphis ribs, North Carolina ribs," said Chandler, 21. "These are Alabama ribs. The best."

He's dined at Dreamland for a decade, but this trip was impromptu. During a 9:30 morning class, Chandler got a text message that his 11 o'clock class was canceled. A no-brainer.

"I was hungry," he said. "Might as well go eat at Dreamland. I live exactly 1.4 miles from here. I'm closer to Dreamland than to the university, and I like it that way."

And this way: a full slab of ribs, slathered with Dreamland's non-pareil sauce, with Sunbeam white bread to sop it up and a Pepsi chaser. Unlike Dreamland's seven other locations throughout Alabama and Georgia, the original location adheres to the original menu. A half or full slab. Sauce. Bread. No side dishes. Golden Flake potato chips. Pepsi, iced tea or beer.

The decor inside the one-story block building is just as basic, dark and pure Dreamland: Four booths run along the right wall, with six communal tables in the room's center.

The bar to the left runs from the front door to the kitchen, where ribs are slow-cooked over hickory wood in stone-pit ovens. The walls are adorned with vanity license plates, neon beer signs and dozens of autographed photos, testimonials from football greats and other celebrities.

Chandler was attired in a gray T-shirt with "Alabama football" on the front in capital crimson letters, but no sauce on it.

"It was on top of the clean clothes pile," Chandler said. "I've got several shirts with Dreamland on 'em. Nothing that OxiClean won't take out. But sometimes you don't want to take the stain out. Leave it on, as a badge of honor or remembrance."

Golden anniversaries

As golden jubilees go, Tuscaloosa is doubly blessed. This season is the 50th anniversary of Bryant's return to his alma mater. Friday marks the 50th anniversary of Dreamland. This makes Jeannette Bishop smile.

"It's been a blessing. Fifty years and we're still here," said Bishop, the daughter of John and Lillie Bishop. "We must be doing something right, huh?"

Jeannette was 6 when Dreamland opened during a time of segregation. "My dad just wanted a place where black people could gather," she said. He also wanted a way to make a living while standing.

In 1993, Bishop told a news reporter that he worked as "a cement finisher. I caught cold in my knees. One day, I prayed, 'Lord, I need money. Is there something I can do without getting on my knees and crawling?' "

He decided to open a restaurant. But what to call it? A voice in his ear whispered: "Name it Dreamland."

It took Bishop three years to build it, one cinderblock at a time. When it opened, they served fish sandwiches, hamburgers, cheeseburgers and, of course, pork ribs basted with a secret sauce. Cook 'em, and they will come.

What's in the sauce? All the ingredients are listed on each quart jar, which sells for $5.95. All, that is, except for the magical elixir that gives Dreamland sauce its delicious, tangy, not-too-sweet, undeniable flavor. Bishop never divulged it before his death in 1997. No one has since.

But that sauce brought customers to their knees and made Dreamland's ribs the most famous since Adam's. It attracted people to Jerusalem Heights, a hardscrabble neighborhood just south of I-59 in Tuscaloosa. "Ain't nothing like 'em nowhere!" as the slogan goes, then and now.


The legend grows

Success came at a price. In 1990, Bishop reached a settlement with the state of Alabama to pay more than $120,000 in back state income and sales taxes.

Even three years later, Bishop still was wary, saying to a visiting reporter, "You the tax man, right? Don't do me wrong."


Nonetheless, Dreamland was thriving.

Its popularity had soared when Bryant retired and Ray Perkins succeeded him before the 1983 season. Bryant's barbecue joint of choice was Archibald's, across the Black Warrior River north of town.

Perkins was a Dreamland guy, and John Bishop Jr. often grilled ribs for parties at the coach's house. "I'm the one who put it on the map," John Jr. said last month.

TV broadcasters Brent Musburger and Keith Jackson extolled Dreamland on the air. Sportswriters did it in print. NFL coaches dropped in during the offseason. Former 'Bama football greats did, too. Sit down and Joe Namath or Kenny Stabler might be beside you.

Or Joe Hughes. "I've been enjoying these all my life," Hughes, a retired businessman from Tuscaloosa, said between bites. "I've been coming here since before integration."

Indeed, what began as a place for black folks to gather now has a diverse clientele. The rich and famished dine, too: Penn & Teller specifically requested Dreamland ribs before performing at the university. The Four Tops dropped in. Reba McEntire's entourage ordered several slabs for the tour bus.

Fifty years. "Who would've ever thought?" Jeannette Bishop asked. "It's mind-boggling."

So is this: When her son, Roscoe Hall, recently had a job interview in Oregon, the interviewer noticed something on his arm and asked him to roll up his sleeve. There, on his forearm, was a large tattoo of "Big Daddy."

"That man lives in Alabama," the interviewer said. "That's that barbecue man.
Why did you do that?"

"That's my grandfather," Roscoe said.

Dreamland's cuisine now is being served in Bryant-Denny Stadium (well, chopped pork sandwiches, anyway).

And the sauce remains the same. This pleases Alabama native Ivan Maisel to the bone.
"We have 'em shipped up here," Maisel, national college football writer for ESPN. com, said from his Fairfield, Conn., home. "I have four slabs in the freezer and four quarts of sauce in the cabinet. Our neighbors are now addicted."

His kids, too, especially his oldest daughter, Sarah, 16. In 2005, she accompanied her father on a trip for the Florida-Alabama game. First stop that Friday: lunch at Dreamland.

"We sat at a communal table with four or five Florida fans," Maisel said. "They recognized me, and we started talking about the game. My daughter asked, 'Who are they?' I said, 'I don't know. Florida fans.'

"That's Southern football," Maisel said. "They knew to come to Dreamland."

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