In the summer of 1969, we bought a second-hand 17 ft. Yellowstone travel trailer, attached it to one of those large station wagons, family vehicle of choice in the suburbs, and took off on a six-week 6,000 mile coast-to-coast round trip. The children ranged in age from 10 to 17, and the purpose was to expand their horizons by acquainting them with their own country and its national parks and campgrounds. The only scheduled stops would be in Chicago where Glen and I were to attend a music convention; at Carleton College in Minnesota where Cary had an interview; and in San Francisco where she’d be taking her SAT exams. How cool to combine it all into a cross-country adventure!
Glen, who had to work to put food on the table (the 1950’s definition of a husband), was excluded, much to his delight, but planned to join us for a few days in Chicago, and fly to San Francisco to enjoy the California coast with us.
With stars in my eyes I set forth. I was reminded of my own childhood when my parents drove my sisters and me to our cottage on Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire…eight hours filled with joy and anticipation and a vomiting cat. And now I was about to explore the vastness of an entire continent with my own children. I could hardly contain my excitement! If only I’d known what lay ahead….
In those days there were no over-the-shoulder seatbelts, only one strap that reached across the legs. They were so new as to be a curiosity. Nonetheless, I insisted, despite universal complaining, that before I start the car everyone must buckle up, even though one of the children announced that he’d read it was dangerous, since your legs could be cut off in the event of a head-on collision…reason enough to discourage the reading of the newspaper by little people.
There were no Game Boys, iPods, iPads, Walkman, or mini-TVs for entertainment…only endless scenery and ancient games: “alphabet,” using billboards; “finish the couplet” for those interested in rhyming; singing until your voice was hoarse—everything from old folk tunes to pop songs; Mad Libs, a game of finishing silly sentences, which led to some of the most disgusting phrases imaginable; drawing with colored chalk on the windows if you happened to be next to one; and reading, for those who didn’t get car sick. If this didn’t suffice, there was always the game of “got you last,” played by poking your seatmate, surreptitiously if possible, and causing yowls of anguish from the “touchee.” Or you could step it up a notch by calling your sibling names, which frequently happened to son Christopher, who hated to be called Chrissy, and would punch anyone in sight who did so. I am reminded of another game that gained serious momentum when we hit the California coast after sitting in a car for far too long and eating raw peanuts, sold at stands along the highway. Simply said, it was called, “Who farted?” I will elaborate on this one later in the trip.
The first leg of the journey took us through the gently rolling hills of Pennsylvania. The ambiance was peaceful, but the kids became restless after a few hours of uninterrupted sitting. I tried to lighten things up by playing hopscotch with various trucks along the highway, encouraged by my children to pass, as they shouted and waved to the truckers, after which I was goaded by the truckers to a rematch. I assure you that it was all very safe, but, in retrospect, I’m struck by the lengths to which one goes to liven things up on an endless stretch of highway. By the end of the first day, when we arrived at our selected designation, each child had taken a turn checking the tire pressure and pumping gas (something they weren’t allowed to do in New Jersey), and was fluent at imitating the accents of local Pennsylvanians met in stations and cafés along the way. This was a sure indication that my children had theatrical tendencies, which greatly warmed my heart.
It took us about two hours of roaming the countryside west of Harrisburg to find our chosen destination for the night, Colonel Denning State Park, described by Cary in her journal entry:
This is beautiful, beautiful country. Wheat fields, hills in the distance. The long narrow road leading to the campsite was littered with dead animals. We arrived and easily found a site and plenty of friends. They helped us with tire pressure and stabilizers, and loaned us a grill. They even tightened the torsion bars so we didn’t sway on the road so much.
One man took over and did everything. Another, a state trooper, who looked like a cross between Dudley Do-Right and a Royal Canadian Mountie, was especially helpful and talkative. Both men were astounded at the way Mom handled the trailer. They hung around and talked and talked while Mom made a steak dinner with salad and corn-on-the-cob. Delicious!
Behind the trailer were woodlands and a stream you could hear all night. There was also a small lake. The toilets were smelly! I guess having our own little toilet we are getting spoiled.
At 9 AM on June 22 we left our friends at Colonel Denning’s and traced our way back through the country road to the highway.
Silence is Golden
The first major crisis occurred on day two, mid-afternoon. I had lost my patience ordering seat belts secured and listening to “got you last,” and nearly turned us over as I reached, in desperation, to clobber whomever was chanting “Chrissy, Chrissy, Chrissy, he’s a stupid little sissy.” In the midst of the confusion I burst into tears and abruptly pulled onto the shoulder of the highway.
“I’ve had it! I’m leaving you…all of you. And I’m never coming back,” I shouted as I slammed the door and started running up the slope abutting the highway. My tears were real and I can’t remember feeling more alone or anguished in all my years of parenting. I was a total failure. I was outnumbered. They were horrible, unmanageable brats. And to think I might have been a lawyer, a writer, or maybe even an actress. I could have amounted to something….Like Marlon Brando, I could have been a ‘contender.’
In my delirium I turned to look back. A shiny police car was parked behind the trailer. I could see a policeman leaning into the driver’s window and talking. OMIGOD! Thrown in jail for abandoning my children. I raced back, arriving at the car, winded.
The policeman asked, “Is there a problem, M’am. I saw your trailer parked beside the highway, and these children alone in the car, and wondered….”
“Oh, no, officer, I was just…sometimes you have to, well, you know what I mean…in the woods, if you’re really in a hurry. So sorry to bother you, but everything is fine.”
The children sat in utter silence.
He smiled in sympathy. “Well, just wanted to be sure. Now, you have a safe trip. These are mighty nice youngsters. You’re a lucky woman.” And with a tip of his hat he was off.
I got into the car, and for a moment lay my head on the steering wheel to collect myself. No sound. “Seat belts,” I said in a low monotone. I could hear the click as each belt was fastened. “Now, listen carefully. I want absolute silence for the next ten minutes. The first person to speak before I say so will be killed.”
I’m not recommending this as an ideal method of childrearing, but the rest of the trip was golden.
