As a good 1950s Ohioan, I grew up eating fried chicken on Sunday -- at home, at my relative's, at friends' places. It was what you did.
Home cooked fried chicken (and restaurant fried chicken when we'd eat out on Sunday) is very likely the only chicken I knew in my early years, and I loved it. I have early memories of it sizzling in the frying pan on the stove at my paternal grandmother's apartment in Columbus, and later in our own electric skillet. I'll bet that's what those electric skillets were used for almost exclusively then, at least in my family.