It is now four years later. I have written about our return from the Philippines after about four years. There are other stories to be told about the trip back by freighter with stops in Hong Kong, Yokohama and Tokyo, but those are for another time.
My grandfather, Grandpa Dave, was superintendent of 1100 Union Street in San Francisco, so he had great contacts and access to some classy Cadillacs and Lincolns for tooling around town.
We spent a month in San Francisco. My grandmother cooked food unavailable in the Philippines. It was here that I got my first taste of artichokes and my first and last taste of beef heart. After four years of lean, I experienced plenty, first on the ship, then in the basement of 1100 Union.
The family planned to drive across country again, this time from West to East, stopping to see sights along the way. We would take the "southern route" because it would be late spring and we were not equipped to weather a spring snow storm in one of the passes of the Rockies.
First problem, find a car. As I mentioned previously this would be the first car Mom and Dad would buy. The car had to be reliable enough to get us across country and have room enough for five, since the family had grown to include a third brother. Paul was born in Manila and was less than five months old when we boarded ship for our return to the states.
With the help of Grandpa Dave's contacts, Dad found a used green 50 Chevrolet with a truck engine and transmission and an outline on the door where a California State Seal had been. The car proved to be a find, because it lasted the family for several years. I learned to drive in it.
Second problem, make enough room for all our earthly belongings. Take that literally because all that my Mom and Dad owned were with them. Dishes and silverware had been stored in barrels in Manila and would eventually be given away as we did not return. Even as I write this it seems strange that all of our material possessions would fit in that car. The trunk held a fair amount, but the back seat had to hold three boys. So Dad built a roof rack/box out of 3/4 inch plywood. My Dad was a cabinet maker, among other things, so this was an elegant box that could probably withstand blowing off the car at 50 mph. He found someone who could sew a canvas cover for the box. I have no idea where that car roof box is today, but I would not be surprised to find it in some one's garage still usable. It probably made our gas mileage worse, but it got our belongings across country with us.
Third problem, make a bed for the infant Paul. Dad took some of that plywood and crafted it into a bed for the driver's side back seat. He covered that bed with foam rubber and a sheet. Paul slept peacefully in that bed for much of the trip, even though middle brother Len was sitting right beside him. Remember that there were no seat belts in those days, so a bed in a car was a convenience for all.
So, in a green 50 Chevy we set out across country; family of five including an infant. I looked forward to seeing the rest of my family and whatever wonders we had time to include.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
A Proper Forum
Let me state that I have been a fan of Roger Clemens for a long time.
I always thought he was destined to be a first ballot inductee into Cooperstown.
I also urged him to stay home last year and I don' t think a 6-6 record and a 4.18 ERA proved me wrong.
He has just issued a statement denying that he used steroids.
Let me also state that I have always admired Senator George Mitchell who is after all from a state that is as close to "home" as I have. He has made many truly great contributions to his state, to his country and to the world.
Maybe he was put into an impossible situation. Here again everyone in professional baseball has to share some blame. The steroid era existed because Baseball turned a blind eye. From a commissioner who was an owner to greedy owners and equally greedy players, the game that I love was tarnished and will forever have asterisks and footnotes. To try to cover for intentional blindness the commish turned to a highly respected former Senator, but gave him no power. He had no standing with the union and he had no subpoena powers.
I read his report, not all of it, but the nine or so pages that mention Clemens and Pettitte and others. In no other forum would such hearsay be permissable. At least not in our society.
The report cannot be the end of it. There must be a legal setting where Clemens, Pettitte and others can defend themselves.
That's the American way and Baseball deserves nothing less.
I always thought he was destined to be a first ballot inductee into Cooperstown.
I also urged him to stay home last year and I don' t think a 6-6 record and a 4.18 ERA proved me wrong.
He has just issued a statement denying that he used steroids.
Let me also state that I have always admired Senator George Mitchell who is after all from a state that is as close to "home" as I have. He has made many truly great contributions to his state, to his country and to the world.
Maybe he was put into an impossible situation. Here again everyone in professional baseball has to share some blame. The steroid era existed because Baseball turned a blind eye. From a commissioner who was an owner to greedy owners and equally greedy players, the game that I love was tarnished and will forever have asterisks and footnotes. To try to cover for intentional blindness the commish turned to a highly respected former Senator, but gave him no power. He had no standing with the union and he had no subpoena powers.
I read his report, not all of it, but the nine or so pages that mention Clemens and Pettitte and others. In no other forum would such hearsay be permissable. At least not in our society.
The report cannot be the end of it. There must be a legal setting where Clemens, Pettitte and others can defend themselves.
That's the American way and Baseball deserves nothing less.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Petrified Forest and Figs
Occasionally we stopped to see something interesting during our trip west in 1952. I remember the Petrified Forest best.
Historic Route 66 passed right through what was then a National Monument, one of Teddy Roosevelt's gifts to our nation. I was fascinated with those old quartz tree trunks. I had never seen anything like them and, like much of the west, I was learning something new everywhere I looked. We stayed long enough for Len and me to get a good look, then we drove on.
We stopped for a few days in Pasadena. Again, I had never seen anything like that place. There were palm trees in people's back yards! We stayed with the Roddy's. Clarence Roddy, then a homiletics professor at Fuller Seminary, had been Mom and Dad's pastor in Portland, Maine and his wife was a significant mentor to my Mom. They had a lemon tree and a fig tree in their backyard. I had my first fig. An acquired taste, they are good when they are ripe right from the tree.
Except for being smooshed in the Plymouth, the whole trip was an adventure of discovery.
Historic Route 66 passed right through what was then a National Monument, one of Teddy Roosevelt's gifts to our nation. I was fascinated with those old quartz tree trunks. I had never seen anything like them and, like much of the west, I was learning something new everywhere I looked. We stayed long enough for Len and me to get a good look, then we drove on.
We stopped for a few days in Pasadena. Again, I had never seen anything like that place. There were palm trees in people's back yards! We stayed with the Roddy's. Clarence Roddy, then a homiletics professor at Fuller Seminary, had been Mom and Dad's pastor in Portland, Maine and his wife was a significant mentor to my Mom. They had a lemon tree and a fig tree in their backyard. I had my first fig. An acquired taste, they are good when they are ripe right from the tree.
Except for being smooshed in the Plymouth, the whole trip was an adventure of discovery.
West of St. Louis
I had been to Chicago by train, so getting to Chicago was no big deal. We stayed with an older woman who was a supporter of the mission. I think we had stayed with her before. I don't know how long we stayed in Chicago, but it was for a few days, kind of a respite from being smooshed in that Plymouth.
We got back into the Plymouth and headed for St. Louis. Route 66! Chicago to LA on one romantic road. When the TV series Route 66 came on many years later, I would watch and could say, "I've been there, I remember that." Route 66 was everything they say it was and more. I have great memories and horrible memories of that road, but I am glad that I experienced what is really a bygone era.
I don't have too many memories of the route between Chicago and St. Louis. At the time Chicago was as far west as I had been, but when we left St. Louis we were going into the unknown, we were going into the wild west. I had read about the homesteaders leaving St. Louis to stake a claim and begin a new life. So, I was full of anticipation as the man or my Dad headed the car west.
Just the high spots. The road took a 90 degree turn in Oklahoma City right in front of the state's capital. And, yes there were oil wells right there on the capital grounds! Lots of them.
Texas is far from my favorite state. I'll tell you why. Route 66 cuts across the Texas panhandle, and at the time it was truly God forsaken country. We stopped at some small town for some of that bologna and bread, but there was no place to have a picnic lunch. So the adults decided to keep driving west; we certainly could find somewhere to stop. After what seemed like hours there was one tree by the side of the road. As the car slowed to a stop, you could plainly see a curled rattlesnake under that tree. Hours (or so it seemed to a ten year old) later we found another tree, this time with a picnic table and no rattlesnake.
I remember Albuquerque, New Mexico and Flagstaff, Arizona. The Plymouth broke down in one of those towns and we spent a pretty long day there while the car was on a lift.
Dry. Texas, New Mexico and Arizona were all dry. Two things stick out. Since the desert was dry and hot, and since cars in those days could be expected to break down, you hung a canvas bag or two of water from the hood ornament. The bag was not waterproof, so the bag would sweat and as you drove along at 50 or 60, the water cooled and was at least somewhat tolerable for drinking. More importantly, you could top off your radiator when necessary.
Dry. Somewhere along the way in the desert we stopped at a gas station. We were thirsty, so Mom or Dad paid 10 cents for a glass of water for us. The water was nasty, so I could only take about 2/3 of the glass. I threw the rest on the ground. This was before CPR, but the guy who sold us the water almost had a heart attack! I learned something about how precious water can be that day. Maybe that's one of the reasons that I don't drink a lot of the stuff. That's another story.
When we got past the desert we were pretty deep in California. Suddenly there was more of that water stuff (never mind that they got it from Colorado) and it was green again. I remember that the carrots in the trucks were as long as my forearm. I swear!
Remember that I was only 10 years old. I stand by my story.
We got back into the Plymouth and headed for St. Louis. Route 66! Chicago to LA on one romantic road. When the TV series Route 66 came on many years later, I would watch and could say, "I've been there, I remember that." Route 66 was everything they say it was and more. I have great memories and horrible memories of that road, but I am glad that I experienced what is really a bygone era.
I don't have too many memories of the route between Chicago and St. Louis. At the time Chicago was as far west as I had been, but when we left St. Louis we were going into the unknown, we were going into the wild west. I had read about the homesteaders leaving St. Louis to stake a claim and begin a new life. So, I was full of anticipation as the man or my Dad headed the car west.
Just the high spots. The road took a 90 degree turn in Oklahoma City right in front of the state's capital. And, yes there were oil wells right there on the capital grounds! Lots of them.
Texas is far from my favorite state. I'll tell you why. Route 66 cuts across the Texas panhandle, and at the time it was truly God forsaken country. We stopped at some small town for some of that bologna and bread, but there was no place to have a picnic lunch. So the adults decided to keep driving west; we certainly could find somewhere to stop. After what seemed like hours there was one tree by the side of the road. As the car slowed to a stop, you could plainly see a curled rattlesnake under that tree. Hours (or so it seemed to a ten year old) later we found another tree, this time with a picnic table and no rattlesnake.
I remember Albuquerque, New Mexico and Flagstaff, Arizona. The Plymouth broke down in one of those towns and we spent a pretty long day there while the car was on a lift.
Dry. Texas, New Mexico and Arizona were all dry. Two things stick out. Since the desert was dry and hot, and since cars in those days could be expected to break down, you hung a canvas bag or two of water from the hood ornament. The bag was not waterproof, so the bag would sweat and as you drove along at 50 or 60, the water cooled and was at least somewhat tolerable for drinking. More importantly, you could top off your radiator when necessary.
Dry. Somewhere along the way in the desert we stopped at a gas station. We were thirsty, so Mom or Dad paid 10 cents for a glass of water for us. The water was nasty, so I could only take about 2/3 of the glass. I threw the rest on the ground. This was before CPR, but the guy who sold us the water almost had a heart attack! I learned something about how precious water can be that day. Maybe that's one of the reasons that I don't drink a lot of the stuff. That's another story.
When we got past the desert we were pretty deep in California. Suddenly there was more of that water stuff (never mind that they got it from Colorado) and it was green again. I remember that the carrots in the trucks were as long as my forearm. I swear!
Remember that I was only 10 years old. I stand by my story.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Driving Down Memory Lane
Got a call from my brothers yesterday.
"What kind of car did you drive across country in?"
"'49 Plymouth (or was it a '47?), black." "Which way?"
"Both."
"Chevy, '50 Chevy (or was it a '52?), green."
"Were they 2 door or 4 door?"
"4 Door."
But wait, the Plymouth may have been 2 door, the Chevy was definitely 4 door, green and it was a '50. The Plymouth was definitely black, I didn't think they made any other color, although subsequent research shows that they apparently did.
Memories. That was a long time ago, and I became so distrusting of my memory that I called my children's mother to check to make sure that I had correctly remembered another fact, unconnected to the above.
Later, in the evening my nephew Peter sent me some "This is Your Life" links to the cars my parents owned during my youth. I say youth, because the first car Mom and Dad bought (Mom would not drive until years later) was that '50 Chevy, green." More about that later.
So, I have been thinking about those memories for the last 24 plus hours.
An aside. Its snowing here in Tonawanda, NY. Coming down pretty well right now, though they tell me it is to get worse. Nothing else to do until the Bills game is on, so I find myself remembering and writing. Up here in Buffalo when they talk about snow they talk about the blizzard of '77. I moved here after that storm, so when I think of a blizzard, I think of the blizzard of '52. We were living above the Sunday School building of The First Baptist Church in Portland, Maine. Portland got so snowed in that they had to borrow plows from Scarborough. Congress Street was piled high with snow. My Dad and I walked miles through the storm to make sure Aunt Ruth and Uncle Clarence were OK. They lived off of Back Bay. To get there you had to pass the B&M Bean plant, which always smelled great to me.
So, here's the story:
The blizzard comes into play because it was 1952. Most of the family belongings were shipped in crates and barrels through New York, the Panama Canal and then to the Philippines by ship.
Our ship was to leave from San Francisco in the fall of '52, but my family had no car and the train was too expensive for a family of four living on missionary salaries.
I can't remember the guy's name, or even much about him, just that he was heading west from Portland and was willing to share the ride with family of four. Must have been some kind of hero.
I remember it was a Plymouth. It was also black. It certainly was the shape of the '47 - '49 model, but when I look at the pictures of the 4 door it looks too long. Funny, you would think that I would remember crawling past the front seat of a 2 door. What I remember is that Len and I had about 1/3 of that back seat to share. He was smaller, so he was smooshed against the stuff that filled the other 2/3's of the seat while I was smooshed against the side of the car.
Neither the Mass Pike or the NY Thruway were finished in 1952, so we took Route 20 through western Massachusetts and upstate New York. I remember when we moved here to the Buffalo area that Route 20 through Geneva, Batavia and Pembroke had a kind of eerie familiarity to me 26 years later. I still drive on Route 20, especially when I am out with my camera and it still looks familiar.
I don't remember Buffalo, but I do remember that it was a long trip and we made slow time, when it came time to stop to sleep we would find some "cabins" and for a few dollars we would spend the night. Mom was in charge of food, so we had a lot of bologna sandwiches!
To Chicago and west another time.
"What kind of car did you drive across country in?"
"'49 Plymouth (or was it a '47?), black." "Which way?"
"Both."
"Chevy, '50 Chevy (or was it a '52?), green."
"Were they 2 door or 4 door?"
"4 Door."
But wait, the Plymouth may have been 2 door, the Chevy was definitely 4 door, green and it was a '50. The Plymouth was definitely black, I didn't think they made any other color, although subsequent research shows that they apparently did.
Memories. That was a long time ago, and I became so distrusting of my memory that I called my children's mother to check to make sure that I had correctly remembered another fact, unconnected to the above.
Later, in the evening my nephew Peter sent me some "This is Your Life" links to the cars my parents owned during my youth. I say youth, because the first car Mom and Dad bought (Mom would not drive until years later) was that '50 Chevy, green." More about that later.
So, I have been thinking about those memories for the last 24 plus hours.
An aside. Its snowing here in Tonawanda, NY. Coming down pretty well right now, though they tell me it is to get worse. Nothing else to do until the Bills game is on, so I find myself remembering and writing. Up here in Buffalo when they talk about snow they talk about the blizzard of '77. I moved here after that storm, so when I think of a blizzard, I think of the blizzard of '52. We were living above the Sunday School building of The First Baptist Church in Portland, Maine. Portland got so snowed in that they had to borrow plows from Scarborough. Congress Street was piled high with snow. My Dad and I walked miles through the storm to make sure Aunt Ruth and Uncle Clarence were OK. They lived off of Back Bay. To get there you had to pass the B&M Bean plant, which always smelled great to me.
So, here's the story:
The blizzard comes into play because it was 1952. Most of the family belongings were shipped in crates and barrels through New York, the Panama Canal and then to the Philippines by ship.
Our ship was to leave from San Francisco in the fall of '52, but my family had no car and the train was too expensive for a family of four living on missionary salaries.
I can't remember the guy's name, or even much about him, just that he was heading west from Portland and was willing to share the ride with family of four. Must have been some kind of hero.
I remember it was a Plymouth. It was also black. It certainly was the shape of the '47 - '49 model, but when I look at the pictures of the 4 door it looks too long. Funny, you would think that I would remember crawling past the front seat of a 2 door. What I remember is that Len and I had about 1/3 of that back seat to share. He was smaller, so he was smooshed against the stuff that filled the other 2/3's of the seat while I was smooshed against the side of the car.
Neither the Mass Pike or the NY Thruway were finished in 1952, so we took Route 20 through western Massachusetts and upstate New York. I remember when we moved here to the Buffalo area that Route 20 through Geneva, Batavia and Pembroke had a kind of eerie familiarity to me 26 years later. I still drive on Route 20, especially when I am out with my camera and it still looks familiar.
I don't remember Buffalo, but I do remember that it was a long trip and we made slow time, when it came time to stop to sleep we would find some "cabins" and for a few dollars we would spend the night. Mom was in charge of food, so we had a lot of bologna sandwiches!
To Chicago and west another time.
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