HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
|
The year was nineteen and sixty-three (as we
used to say in ancient times). It was nearing the Christmas season (we
were allowed to call it that back then) and I started to think of “home” in
Michigan. However, I doubt that I had $100 to my name and just didn’t
think a dose of “home” was in the cards. I had only been working for a few
months in California so I didn’t have much vacation built up either.
Helen, a co-worker, co-bowler, co-drinker,
etc., was in a similar financial state, had similar thoughts of “home” in
Minnesota, was somewhat adventuresome as was I, and somehow our paths crossed.
Now back in those days $10 bought an awful lot of gas, and even with the limited
MPG of the time, a car trip to the Midwest with two people sharing the cost was
quite feasible. We decided to go and elected to take her car. The
car decision was easy. I was driving a decrepit 1955 Ford. The worm
gear in the steering column was damaged so I had to turn the steering wheel
about 30° before any change was made in direction. Helen was broke because
she had just bought a new Mercury Meteor. Repeat – the car decision was
easy.
With very little planning or consideration, we
each threw a few things in a bag and took off. Along the way Helen thought
we should have gotten some maps, but I assured her that this was winter time, we
should take the southern route, which was simply Route 66 to Oklahoma and then
turn left to Minnesota. I guess somewhere we acquired maps, but I never
saw the need.
We stopped at a Hopi Indian Reservation and
hiked through a bunch of lava fields. There were fumaroles there (whatever
they are) and I scorched my hand by sticking it in one. I also came close
to tumbling down the trail due to my leather soled shoes. We were thrilled
to witness an Air Force jet-to-jet refueling mission overhead in the smog-free
clear skies.
|
|
|
|
Somewhere along the road we ran out of gas.
Police stopped to see what was wrong and took us off to a one-pump “station”.
We got enough to get to a place where we could fill up. As we drove off
the cop blinked his lights and waved heartily. He kept following us and
would wave once in a while – very friendly we thought. Finally Helen
remembered that she had left her purse on the back of the car. We stopped,
retrieved the purse, and set off again. The cop blinked his lights and
waved heartily. This time he cut a U and was off.
At this point my memory dims. I know we
traded off driving and sleeping, and maybe we never did stop overnight until we
reached Minnesota. Helen took me to the bus station from her folks’ place
and it was about -12°. She stopped a cop for directions. He took one
look at her CA license and said “Lady if you made it this far, you’ll get to
Lagoon Ave.” She made it to the bus station, and I made it to the Upper
Peninsula (UP) of Michigan where my folks lived. It was great to be home
for Christmas!
|
|
Helen with relies
The Sandin cottage
|
|
In 1963 many aunts, uncles, and cousins lived
in the UP as well as my parents, sister and brother-in-law. It was a busy
time trying to see all of them. My aunt Marge had lost her husband that
year in Chicago, and after a brief stint in Florida, she decided to move back to
the UP. She didn’t drive, but she had her husband’s car with her and it
was for sale. She offered me a deal that I couldn’t refuse and since I
really needed a replacement, I accepted.
I broke the news to Helen. I called her
to let her know we’d be returning to California in a truckin’ convoy and I don’t
recall her response. But we did. We must have allocated a few days
for the return trip because we did do some sight-seeing.
We stopped for some real food at one point and
heard that snow flurries were predicted. By the time we got going again
there was serious snowfall. Across Oklahoma we hit a blizzard. It
snowed so hard we could hardly see each other’s car to keep together.
Helen stuck her camera out the window and recorded some of the storm. She
wanted a record of where we were for “when they find us”.
We joined a bunch of cars that were following
a Greyhound bus and followed them right off the road. Workers finally
showed up and dug a path back onto the highway. Somehow we kept going and
eventually drove out of the storm.
We stopped at an obscure bar one evening for a
nightcap. Although they didn’t think it was worth closing for, their
toilets were out of order. They directed us to the far side of the parking
lot. That worked fine for me, but Helen objected. She drank very
sparingly that evening.
We diverted from Route 66 to see Grand Canyon
and spend New Year’s Eve. We did some hiking, stopped at the popular
overlooks, and enjoyed the sunshine, all with woefully inadequate clothing.
But, that was all in keeping with the lack of planning for the entire trip.
I have no idea where that hat came from, or
why I was wearing shiny black shoes, or why we wore “Indian blankets” to look at
the big hole, but we were young and free of spirit.
Then we came back to reality. Rooms in
Grand Canyon Village had been booked well in advance and there was nothing
available. We considered napping in the cars after the New Year’s Eve
celebration, but there were no remaining reservations for the party either.
The best they could do was to recommend that we head south and try Tusayan.
In 1963, Tusayan was a wide (slightly) place
in the road just outside of the park. There was a motel on one side and a
gas station / pick up store / bar on the other side. (Today Tusayan boasts
6 motels and more than 500 people!) We scored a room at the motel with
assurances that the party at the bar was first come-first served with
reservations not required.
We moved in and set about getting ready to
party. Our first class clothes were somewhat wrinkly from the arduous
trip, but Helen knew how to fix that. She turned on the shower and hung up
the clothes for a good steam treatment. A quick shower to get rid of the
trail dust and we were ready for the big time. We walked across the street
to the bar.
The bar was well filled, but I’m pretty sure
we were the only tourists there. Locals kept filing in from miles around.
Helen fell in love with a guy with a ginchy eye who was a muleskinner at the
park. I fell in love with an Indian maid and we made arrangements for her
to fly away with me to California the next morning.
Helen and I both had to be at work Thursday
after New Year’s Day, so we got up pretty early the next morning. We had
about 500 miles to go. My Indian maid was nowhere to be seen and the
muleskinner didn’t show up to wave goodbye, so we picked up the pieces of our
broken hearts and were on our way.
We skirted the metropolis and sneaked in to
Santa Monica from the north. I think I was on auto-pilot most of the trip.
I remember driving down from Sepulveda Pass and admiring the show as the city
lights were dancing wildly. Helen wanted me to see her to her place in
Pacific Palisades and I did. There were 444 steps from the street to her
front door (Helen says there were only 127). I had about 4 more miles to
go to my place after unloading Helen, but I don’t remember them – and even
though I went to work on Thursday and Friday, I don’t remember much of anything
else until the next Monday. But we got home for Christmas!
|
