By the age of 19, I had probably (by virtue of frequent moves and regular family vacations) already traveled more miles than most “civilians” would in a lifetime. Most of our travels had taken place by automobile, with the exceptions of traveling to Japan by boat, and returning by airplane. I had already criss-crossed the country countless times. So, long drives didn’t bother me, they were just a normal occurrence in my life. Until moving to Florida in late 1968, the longest I had ever lived in one location had been three years. Now, it was time for another trip. Dad had Judy’s Maverick hooked to the station wagon, and I was pulling the motorcycle on a trailer, and we headed west. We drove as a team, Dad leading the way. If he needed to change lanes, I would move over to that lane first, and serve as a “blocker” so that he could safely make the change. I managed to keep them in sight most of the way, although occasionally they might be as far as a mile ahead of me. There aren’t many hills to block the view in that part of the country. While passing through large cities, I tried to stay right on his tail, but I needn’t have worried; we weren’t going to be “changing highways” very much. As long as I could see that I was still on I-10, I knew I was headed the right direction, and I knew that if I got too far behind, Dad would pull over or slow down until he could once again see me “in his six”. While passing through Texas, I happened to notice something a little out of the ordinary in my rear-view mirror. Every now and then, it seemed like the motorcycle was leaning. Soon, it was leaning farther and farther to one side. Noticing that Dad was about a quarter of a mile ahead of me, I flashed my lights once and pulled over, knowing that he would eventually notice that I was not behind him and turn around. Being the observant fighter pilot that he was, he was pulling over even as I came to a stop. He had seen that I was pulling over, and that his bike was leaning. I got out to try and hold the bike up. One of the straps that had been holding the bike up had broken. I looked up the road and Dad was already running back to help me. We got the bike upright and evaluated the damage. The strap that had broken was too short to be of any use. There wasn’t enough to tie together and still be long enough to reach. Not wanting to be stranded, I was thinking of possible solutions. I remembered that I had a vinyl-covered cable with loops at each end. Leaving Dad to hold the bike up, I opened the trunk and hoped it would be easy to find. Luckily, it was near the “front” of the pile. Then, I hoped that it wouldn’t be too long. If it had been too short, we could have still used the broken straps to fill in the shortage, but being too long wouldn’t help us at all. It was a ¼” braided stainless steel cable inside a vinyl sheath. Cutting it was out of the question. As it turned out, the cable was EXACTLY the right length, and with a couple of padlocks we secured the ends to the trailer and motorcycle. Dad was impressed. The cable held, and we made the rest of the trip without incident.
Whenever we had traveled, Dad had planned our routes to include “potty” breaks, food stops, and lodging stops. “We’ll be stopping in Jackson for lunch”, he might say. And sure enough, we would arrive in Jackson right at lunchtime. Maybe the years of flight plans and briefings gave him the “to the minute” accuracy. My Aunt Jean once remarked, “If Sam tells you he will be there at 4:30 and he get to town at 4:00, I think he must sit at the outskirts for half an hour, so that he pulls in the driveway right at 4:30”. He was that good. (And, no, we never sat at the outskirts of town to kill time.)
Before we left Virginia, Dad had (of course) arranged for a job and a place to live. He was going to sell janitorial supplies. Not just brooms and mops, but floor treatments, waxes, and cleaning solutions. One of the “target customers” was schools, where high traffic could result in high wear, particularly in halls and (especially) gymnasiums. So, when we pulled up in front of the house we were to live in (we had, of course, driven straight to it) we couldn’t set up “housekeeping” until Dad had first applied a few of these floor treatments to the floors. He wanted to be able to tell the customers, from his own experience, how the products performed and whether they were easy or tricky to apply. After a few days, we were able to “move in”. One of the questions that Judy had asked was about the weather in Phoenix (we were actually in Glendale). Dad had told her that it was mostly dry, and that it “only rained a couple of times a year”. So, that first month gave us six rainstorms. (Judy chided Dad about it, saying that we had now gotten “three years of rain” and she hoped we wouldn’t die of thirst NEXT year.)
I filled my gas tank when we got settled, and tried to figure out where I could get a job. Welding jobs were either scarce, or required a higher level of skill (certifications) than I had at the time. I checked with some bicycle shops in the area, because I had been assembling bikes at the toy store and was pretty good at it and had my own tools. But, I just couldn’t seem to find a job. In retrospect, I don’t know that I looked that hard. I made that first tank of gas last for an entire month. I rode the motorcycle a lot while out “looking for employment”.
Much of my time was taken up with my baby sister Jenny. We had a back yard where I spent lots of time pulling her around in a cardboard box, or “throwing” her up in the air and catching her. Judy would frequently be in the kitchen and watch us through the window. Once, I threw Jenny high in the air, and tripped over my pant leg (I was wearing bell-bottoms) while she was “airborne”. It is said that “thought” processes happen at light-speed. This must be true, because I remember the following thoughts going through my head while Jenny was still in the air: “Oh GREAT! I’m falling down. Jenny is counting on me to catch her when she comes down. I won’t be there to catch her. Don’t panic! Oh, crap! Is she going to cry? Will she be hurt? Can I roll under her so she lands on me instead of the ground? This may hurt. That’s okay, better me than Jenny. Is Judy watching? Is she going to witness the “crash”? Is she going to be mad? Furious? Boy, this really sucks. Just when we were starting to get along. Where’s Jenny? I can do this. Come on, Roger, you’re fast. There she is, she’s coming down. Does she have those hard little shoes on? You’re gonna rip your pants. Is Judy watching? C’mon, arms out. Gotcha!” I had always been able to move fast, I had usually been the “last one standing” when we had played Dodgeball during school. How I did it, I don’t know, but I caught Jenny just like I always did. A quick look at the window showed Judy just like she always looked. I decided that maybe it was time for a little break, and collapsed on the grass. After my heart returned to normal beating, we played some more with the cardboard box. It was safer. Years later, I asked Judy if she remembered seeing my “ballet” in the yard that day. Neither she or Jenny ever knew how close it had been. I guess I inherited Dad’s quick reflexes.
Sometime, during his youth, Dad had injured his shoulder joint. For some reason, his being thrown from a horse and hitting a fence comes to mind. But that could be wrong. Anyway, his shoulder would come out of the socket. Usually at a bad time (is there ever a good time?). Once, it happened while we were on vacation. We were camping, and had gone down to the lake to swim. We had all worked our way out into the water, and Dad decided that he would dive over into the water. He arched over and disappeared. When he broke the surface seconds later, he was holding his arm over his head. Evidently, he had gotten his arm in just the “right” position, and his shoulder joint separated. This was the first time I had seen it happen, and I was scared. There happened to be a large man out swimming, and he came to assist. They got his shoulder back in after a little “wrestling”. Another time, Dad was water skiing and fell. When he realized that his shoulder was out again, he was so angry that he started thrashing around and was able to slip it back in while still in the water. I asked him if being pulled around on skis by his arms was a good idea. He replied that, as long as he didn’t fall, the “tension” on his shoulder held it in. I don’t know how many times he threw his shoulder out, over the years, but he said that every time it happened, his shoulder got “weaker” and easier to pop out. And if he could get it “back in” quickly, the damage was minimal. However, if it took a long time, the muscles would start to swell, and make it harder to work it back in.
Dad’s shoulder went out shortly after moving to Arizona. I tried, and Judy tried, to help him get it back in. But, out of nervousness, fear, and inexperience, I was unable to help him guide it back in place. By this time, his shoulder muscles were swelling, and it was time to go to the doctor. We got Dad to the station wagon and Judy drove us to the hospital at Luke AFB. They gave Dad a muscle relaxer pill to swallow, and we waited. They gave him another pill, and we waited some more. They finally gave him an injection and we waited a little bit more. Both of the pills and the shot seemed to hit all at once. The doctor was able to easily slip the joint back in. Dad, however, felt none of it. He was off in “La La Land”. After bandaging and slinging his arm, they sent us home. Dad sang the whole way home. I guess it was singing, anyway. He was rather unintelligible. We got home and put him to bed where he slept through the night, and probably part of the next morning.
During this time, and the final couple of months in Virginia, the girl who had “dumped” me had started to miss me. I had been corresponding with her on a regular basis. I had stopped in to see her while in Florida for the holidays, and our “relationship” had warmed up a little. So, that may have been a factor in my half-hearted attempts to find a job. Around the end of that January, I received a phone call. It was from my former employer in Florida. “Come on home, we need you”.
I gathered my belongings and stuffed them into my car. I had “rescued” a couple of miniature billiard tables from the trash while working at the toy store in Virginia. I tried desperately to fit one or both of them into my car, but my trunk “opening” was just one inch too small to fit even the smaller one in. I pulled out the passenger seat and folded it up in the back seat in an effort to make it fit, but to no avail. Sadly, I was to leave my pool tables behind. Dad handed me a gas credit card, and enough money to eat and sleep on, and just a little extra. We shook hands, hugged, and I was on my way. There were good things and bad things about the trips between Florida and Arizona. The good part was that I didn’t have to do much navigating. I just got on the interstate and headed (depending on which state I was headed for) east or west until I got there. The bad part was that I was always heading east or west. Which put the sun in my eyes for half a day, every day. On the trip out to Arizona, I solved this dilemma by wearing my cutting goggles while driving into the sun. They were basically really dark sunglass lenses. They cut the glare quite well. They had worked fine on the way out, and I again put them on when the sun got into the windshield, which was the first half of the day. I would take them off after the sun got “over the roof”, and maybe put them on as the sun filled my rearview mirror. It was kind of lonely out on the road, and I had gone through all of my 8-track tapes at least twice by the time I got into Texas. I filled my time by trying to analyze occupations of people that either passed me, or that I passed. I remember one car distinctly: a Cadillac with three “carousels” of sunglasses in the back seat. I remember it because I saw it more than once. It passed me, and I noticed the sunglasses. Then I passed it while it was pulled over on the side of the road to pick up a hitch-hiker, then it passed me again a few miles on down the road. Close to the next large town, I saw a man standing on the side of the road. He had a duffle bag, some new sunglasses, and some crutches. I pulled over, and offered him a ride. I apologized for the missing passenger seat (it was still folded up in the back seat), but told him he was welcome to “stretch out on the floor” if he wanted to. He tossed his duffle in and climbed in after it. He was able to use his duffle as a backrest, and stretch his legs out. He later told me that it was the most comfortable ride that he had gotten. His name was Chip and he was headed for Houston, and would appreciate riding any miles I was willing to drive in that direction. He had a bad leg, I don’t remember exactly what the problem was, though. Enjoying his company, I detoured off my planned route and drove him to Houston, where we finally found the trailer park that his sister lived in. I planned to drop him off, and go find a motel. They (his family and in-laws) would not hear of it. They fed me, and put me up for the night on their couch. I awoke early the next morning, had breakfast with them, and headed for the gas station next to the trailer park. This was in early 1974, which was a time of rationing and limits at many gas stations. I pulled up to the pump, and a man I had met the night before (a relative of the hitch-hiker) came out to pump my gas. I noticed a sign that said “$2.00 limit” on the pump. Figuring that I would try to “fill up” after I got out of Houston, I told him to give me what he could. I watched the meter on the gas pump hit $1.00, then approach $2.00. Then it went to $3.00 and beyond. The guy filled my tank completely! Worried that I might not have that much cash, I waited for him to come to my window. “That’ll be $2.00, please”. I tried to point out that I owed him much more than that, and he looked me in the eye and said, ”I can’t sell more than two dollars to anybody. Thanks for bringing Chip home.” He winked at me, shook my hand, took my two dollars, and I was on my way.
I marveled at my good fortune as I drove. Not for getting eight or nine dollars worth of gas for only TWO dollars, but that there were still people like that in the world. People not afraid to ask for, or to give help. They felt lucky because their brother had been returned to them safely. I felt lucky just to have met them. My streak of “luck” didn’t end there. Later in the day, I passed through a very small town and decided to find a gas station. I pulled in, and noticed that the pumps listed the price of gas as $.329 a gallon. This was when gas was selling for $.65 to $.75, or higher. I filled my tank and went in to pay for my gas. I commented to the woman at the register that I thought her pumps must be wrong, and was prepared to pay the “real” price. “Well, they’ve never come out to change my pumps, and I can’t sell it all,” she said. “In fact, they’re going to cut my allotment because I can’t sell all that I have been getting”. Right then, I wished that I had a 50-gallon drum in the trunk. Later that day, a station wagon passed me. There was a little kid in the back and he was staring and pointing at me. Soon, another kid joined in. Worried that I might be getting a flat or something, I prepared to pull over. I glanced up at my mirror to see if anyone was behind me, and started laughing. I had forgotten to take my cutting goggles off after the sun got high enough! I must have looked like a mad scientist or something. I drove the rest of the way to Florida that day. I drove alongside the beach, and rolled down my windows and inhaled deeply. I was almost home. I drove through town, pulled into a driveway, and got out of my car. I stretched, then walked into the only house in town where I didn’t have to knock on the door.
Whenever we had traveled, Dad had planned our routes to include “potty” breaks, food stops, and lodging stops. “We’ll be stopping in Jackson for lunch”, he might say. And sure enough, we would arrive in Jackson right at lunchtime. Maybe the years of flight plans and briefings gave him the “to the minute” accuracy. My Aunt Jean once remarked, “If Sam tells you he will be there at 4:30 and he get to town at 4:00, I think he must sit at the outskirts for half an hour, so that he pulls in the driveway right at 4:30”. He was that good. (And, no, we never sat at the outskirts of town to kill time.)
Before we left Virginia, Dad had (of course) arranged for a job and a place to live. He was going to sell janitorial supplies. Not just brooms and mops, but floor treatments, waxes, and cleaning solutions. One of the “target customers” was schools, where high traffic could result in high wear, particularly in halls and (especially) gymnasiums. So, when we pulled up in front of the house we were to live in (we had, of course, driven straight to it) we couldn’t set up “housekeeping” until Dad had first applied a few of these floor treatments to the floors. He wanted to be able to tell the customers, from his own experience, how the products performed and whether they were easy or tricky to apply. After a few days, we were able to “move in”. One of the questions that Judy had asked was about the weather in Phoenix (we were actually in Glendale). Dad had told her that it was mostly dry, and that it “only rained a couple of times a year”. So, that first month gave us six rainstorms. (Judy chided Dad about it, saying that we had now gotten “three years of rain” and she hoped we wouldn’t die of thirst NEXT year.)
I filled my gas tank when we got settled, and tried to figure out where I could get a job. Welding jobs were either scarce, or required a higher level of skill (certifications) than I had at the time. I checked with some bicycle shops in the area, because I had been assembling bikes at the toy store and was pretty good at it and had my own tools. But, I just couldn’t seem to find a job. In retrospect, I don’t know that I looked that hard. I made that first tank of gas last for an entire month. I rode the motorcycle a lot while out “looking for employment”.
Much of my time was taken up with my baby sister Jenny. We had a back yard where I spent lots of time pulling her around in a cardboard box, or “throwing” her up in the air and catching her. Judy would frequently be in the kitchen and watch us through the window. Once, I threw Jenny high in the air, and tripped over my pant leg (I was wearing bell-bottoms) while she was “airborne”. It is said that “thought” processes happen at light-speed. This must be true, because I remember the following thoughts going through my head while Jenny was still in the air: “Oh GREAT! I’m falling down. Jenny is counting on me to catch her when she comes down. I won’t be there to catch her. Don’t panic! Oh, crap! Is she going to cry? Will she be hurt? Can I roll under her so she lands on me instead of the ground? This may hurt. That’s okay, better me than Jenny. Is Judy watching? Is she going to witness the “crash”? Is she going to be mad? Furious? Boy, this really sucks. Just when we were starting to get along. Where’s Jenny? I can do this. Come on, Roger, you’re fast. There she is, she’s coming down. Does she have those hard little shoes on? You’re gonna rip your pants. Is Judy watching? C’mon, arms out. Gotcha!” I had always been able to move fast, I had usually been the “last one standing” when we had played Dodgeball during school. How I did it, I don’t know, but I caught Jenny just like I always did. A quick look at the window showed Judy just like she always looked. I decided that maybe it was time for a little break, and collapsed on the grass. After my heart returned to normal beating, we played some more with the cardboard box. It was safer. Years later, I asked Judy if she remembered seeing my “ballet” in the yard that day. Neither she or Jenny ever knew how close it had been. I guess I inherited Dad’s quick reflexes.
Sometime, during his youth, Dad had injured his shoulder joint. For some reason, his being thrown from a horse and hitting a fence comes to mind. But that could be wrong. Anyway, his shoulder would come out of the socket. Usually at a bad time (is there ever a good time?). Once, it happened while we were on vacation. We were camping, and had gone down to the lake to swim. We had all worked our way out into the water, and Dad decided that he would dive over into the water. He arched over and disappeared. When he broke the surface seconds later, he was holding his arm over his head. Evidently, he had gotten his arm in just the “right” position, and his shoulder joint separated. This was the first time I had seen it happen, and I was scared. There happened to be a large man out swimming, and he came to assist. They got his shoulder back in after a little “wrestling”. Another time, Dad was water skiing and fell. When he realized that his shoulder was out again, he was so angry that he started thrashing around and was able to slip it back in while still in the water. I asked him if being pulled around on skis by his arms was a good idea. He replied that, as long as he didn’t fall, the “tension” on his shoulder held it in. I don’t know how many times he threw his shoulder out, over the years, but he said that every time it happened, his shoulder got “weaker” and easier to pop out. And if he could get it “back in” quickly, the damage was minimal. However, if it took a long time, the muscles would start to swell, and make it harder to work it back in.
Dad’s shoulder went out shortly after moving to Arizona. I tried, and Judy tried, to help him get it back in. But, out of nervousness, fear, and inexperience, I was unable to help him guide it back in place. By this time, his shoulder muscles were swelling, and it was time to go to the doctor. We got Dad to the station wagon and Judy drove us to the hospital at Luke AFB. They gave Dad a muscle relaxer pill to swallow, and we waited. They gave him another pill, and we waited some more. They finally gave him an injection and we waited a little bit more. Both of the pills and the shot seemed to hit all at once. The doctor was able to easily slip the joint back in. Dad, however, felt none of it. He was off in “La La Land”. After bandaging and slinging his arm, they sent us home. Dad sang the whole way home. I guess it was singing, anyway. He was rather unintelligible. We got home and put him to bed where he slept through the night, and probably part of the next morning.
During this time, and the final couple of months in Virginia, the girl who had “dumped” me had started to miss me. I had been corresponding with her on a regular basis. I had stopped in to see her while in Florida for the holidays, and our “relationship” had warmed up a little. So, that may have been a factor in my half-hearted attempts to find a job. Around the end of that January, I received a phone call. It was from my former employer in Florida. “Come on home, we need you”.
I gathered my belongings and stuffed them into my car. I had “rescued” a couple of miniature billiard tables from the trash while working at the toy store in Virginia. I tried desperately to fit one or both of them into my car, but my trunk “opening” was just one inch too small to fit even the smaller one in. I pulled out the passenger seat and folded it up in the back seat in an effort to make it fit, but to no avail. Sadly, I was to leave my pool tables behind. Dad handed me a gas credit card, and enough money to eat and sleep on, and just a little extra. We shook hands, hugged, and I was on my way. There were good things and bad things about the trips between Florida and Arizona. The good part was that I didn’t have to do much navigating. I just got on the interstate and headed (depending on which state I was headed for) east or west until I got there. The bad part was that I was always heading east or west. Which put the sun in my eyes for half a day, every day. On the trip out to Arizona, I solved this dilemma by wearing my cutting goggles while driving into the sun. They were basically really dark sunglass lenses. They cut the glare quite well. They had worked fine on the way out, and I again put them on when the sun got into the windshield, which was the first half of the day. I would take them off after the sun got “over the roof”, and maybe put them on as the sun filled my rearview mirror. It was kind of lonely out on the road, and I had gone through all of my 8-track tapes at least twice by the time I got into Texas. I filled my time by trying to analyze occupations of people that either passed me, or that I passed. I remember one car distinctly: a Cadillac with three “carousels” of sunglasses in the back seat. I remember it because I saw it more than once. It passed me, and I noticed the sunglasses. Then I passed it while it was pulled over on the side of the road to pick up a hitch-hiker, then it passed me again a few miles on down the road. Close to the next large town, I saw a man standing on the side of the road. He had a duffle bag, some new sunglasses, and some crutches. I pulled over, and offered him a ride. I apologized for the missing passenger seat (it was still folded up in the back seat), but told him he was welcome to “stretch out on the floor” if he wanted to. He tossed his duffle in and climbed in after it. He was able to use his duffle as a backrest, and stretch his legs out. He later told me that it was the most comfortable ride that he had gotten. His name was Chip and he was headed for Houston, and would appreciate riding any miles I was willing to drive in that direction. He had a bad leg, I don’t remember exactly what the problem was, though. Enjoying his company, I detoured off my planned route and drove him to Houston, where we finally found the trailer park that his sister lived in. I planned to drop him off, and go find a motel. They (his family and in-laws) would not hear of it. They fed me, and put me up for the night on their couch. I awoke early the next morning, had breakfast with them, and headed for the gas station next to the trailer park. This was in early 1974, which was a time of rationing and limits at many gas stations. I pulled up to the pump, and a man I had met the night before (a relative of the hitch-hiker) came out to pump my gas. I noticed a sign that said “$2.00 limit” on the pump. Figuring that I would try to “fill up” after I got out of Houston, I told him to give me what he could. I watched the meter on the gas pump hit $1.00, then approach $2.00. Then it went to $3.00 and beyond. The guy filled my tank completely! Worried that I might not have that much cash, I waited for him to come to my window. “That’ll be $2.00, please”. I tried to point out that I owed him much more than that, and he looked me in the eye and said, ”I can’t sell more than two dollars to anybody. Thanks for bringing Chip home.” He winked at me, shook my hand, took my two dollars, and I was on my way.
I marveled at my good fortune as I drove. Not for getting eight or nine dollars worth of gas for only TWO dollars, but that there were still people like that in the world. People not afraid to ask for, or to give help. They felt lucky because their brother had been returned to them safely. I felt lucky just to have met them. My streak of “luck” didn’t end there. Later in the day, I passed through a very small town and decided to find a gas station. I pulled in, and noticed that the pumps listed the price of gas as $.329 a gallon. This was when gas was selling for $.65 to $.75, or higher. I filled my tank and went in to pay for my gas. I commented to the woman at the register that I thought her pumps must be wrong, and was prepared to pay the “real” price. “Well, they’ve never come out to change my pumps, and I can’t sell it all,” she said. “In fact, they’re going to cut my allotment because I can’t sell all that I have been getting”. Right then, I wished that I had a 50-gallon drum in the trunk. Later that day, a station wagon passed me. There was a little kid in the back and he was staring and pointing at me. Soon, another kid joined in. Worried that I might be getting a flat or something, I prepared to pull over. I glanced up at my mirror to see if anyone was behind me, and started laughing. I had forgotten to take my cutting goggles off after the sun got high enough! I must have looked like a mad scientist or something. I drove the rest of the way to Florida that day. I drove alongside the beach, and rolled down my windows and inhaled deeply. I was almost home. I drove through town, pulled into a driveway, and got out of my car. I stretched, then walked into the only house in town where I didn’t have to knock on the door.
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