Funcrest survives as historic icon for campers, anglers

There’s a time warp along the road to Coralville Dam.

The Funcrest complex, featuring a bait shop, old-fashioned ice cream drive-in and tiny campground, huddles in the trees like a black and white photo from 1955.

Here is where Bill Kallaus, 72, devotes much of his energy, hanging on to the family business his parents operated near the man-made lake that drew them to the area in the first place.

“I guess it’s a throwback in time,” said Bill. “People said ‘don’t change it,’ so we didn’t. It’s kind of like one of those old-time gas pump stations you see.”

People familiar with beloved drive-in and tourism haunts around Lake Okoboji and Clear Lake from decades ago may find comfort on these grounds, in spite of some peeling paint and a little chipped signage. Campers are already coming back, and Bill is working to get the other two shops open despite the pandemic.

Funcrest has been a somewhat funky fixture here for several decades.

Bill said his parents, Mary and Kenney Kallaus, took the entrepreneurial plunge when Coralville Lake was created in 1958 and bid on three marina opportunities. They snagged one of them and built Coralville Lake Marina from scratch, removing trees and constructing buildings and docks. They also built their home on the marina site east of the dam, where Bill grew up.

“I remember the main dock for the marina had to be floated down from what is now the Mehaffey Bridge boat ramp,” he said. As a kid, he helped in the boatyard and learned to work with outboard motors.

Bill joined the Navy, and when he came home in 1969, there was a plan for him to open an outboard motor dealership, but the cost of setting up inventory was not in the family budget. He went to the University of Iowa on the GI Bill and ended up with degrees in accounting and general studies. He repaired outboards for Fin and Feather while attending college.

His parents sold the marina in the late 1960s and decided to purchase the bait shop and ice cream store. “The marina was a lot of work, and I think they just wanted something simpler,” said Bill.

They put additions on both buildings, built a storage shed and added the 12-slot campground. Since their home was sold as part of the marina project, they moved into Bill’s grandparents’ house in the Goosetown neighborhood in Iowa City, where Bill now lives.

“The ice cream shop was originally a Dairy Sweet, and Mom kept the rights to the name so she could use the cups that came with the business,” Bill said. His parents decided to name their new venture “Funcrest” for reasons he cannot recall.

After working elsewhere for several years, Bill returned in 1984 to help his parents with Funcrest. His father died in 1991, and when his mother passed seven years later, he took over as owner/manager. For a few years, his son Tim operated the ice cream drive-in with his girlfriend.

Over the years, the business has enjoyed good times and lean, depending on traffic, the economy and the availability of help.

“I remember during a drought in the 80s, it was so hot that my dad put a sprinkler on the roof of the bait shop to cool it off,” said Bill. “People who parked in the parking lot got wet when they walked in for bait, but nobody seemed to mind.”

Bill says Funcrest’s profitability in recent years has been tied to management decisions by the Corps of Engineers.

“We sold a lot of beer when people were allowed to drink beer at the beach,” he said, referring to West Overlook Beach just down the road. “But that was banned about ten years ago, and it killed me.”

His bait shop also once did a brisk business selling disc golf supplies. The Corps had created a 9-hole course near Turkey Creek not far from the marina in 1982, then later expanded it to 18 holes at the request of local enthusiasts.

“But the Corps took out the extra nine holes about three years ago because they said the ground was eroding from use,” said Bill. “That really screwed me up.”

Bill once took a welding course at Kirkwood Community College and turned the metal from an old couch into the rusty, artsy “stick man throwing a disc” that is still on the site today. He also designed and created the arched Funcrest sign with a Herky figure on the front of the ice cream shop.

He still sells both beer and golf discs, but says sales are considerable lower for both. The shop has bait, fishing and camping supplies, but caters a bit to catfish anglers looking for stink baits and heavy sinkers.

“We try to offer stuff people forget when they are camping,” he said, “like charcoal lighter or plastic silverware. I told my kids if somebody asks for something three times, we better stock it.”

At one point, Bill chopped firewood to sell to campers, but COPD has limited his involvement in that kind of physical work around the site lately. He is now on oxygen most of the time.

“If I get the virus, I’m a goner,” he says. “But I really don’t plan to retire. I’ve had offers to sell, but I have sons who may want to keep it going.”

He has leased the ice cream store again this season to a young entrepreneur named Ben McCracken who in past summers has drawn customers for ice cream, hot dogs, tenderloins and similar offerings. There are rough picnic tables for enjoying a cold treat on a hot day on your way to snag a catfish on the Iowa River below the dam.

But like most businesses, even seasonal ones, opening during a pandemic is a challenging venture. Bill hopes both the bait shop and ice cream place will be ready by the Fourth of July.

Would Bill’s parents be proud he’s working to keep Funcrest going?

“I think they would,” he said.