A Vacation Saga
It was an adventure! We were going to California from New York! I was five and big brother, Ben, was nine. We were headed west with Mother, on the train, of course. It was 1927, as far as I knew only Charles Lindberg flew. Dad an electrical engineer, worked for the New York Central Railroad. He heartily disapproved of flying; it was dangerous.
The doctor had recommended a change to enable and enhance our recovery from scarlet fever. There were no curative antibiotics then. Dad provided passes for travel; relatives in Los Angeles offered us bed and board. It was a family vacation in its own special way.
Our Dad was able to travel from New York to Chicago with us before returning to work. He needed to see that we changed trains without difficulty. He was very sure that Mother required his support and guidance, she knew otherwise as we were to find out. Our tiny mother was creative, innovative and confident. Lunch in Chicago was no picnic, but it was fun. Huge June bugs nearly spoiled the day by trying to share our sandwiches; they (the bugs) failed. Saying goodbye to Dad for 13 weeks did not distress me, I knew he would be there to greet us on our return, he promised. We were going to sleep on the train for three nights that was exciting.
The trip on the train became a bit of a bore after we tired of reading and playing checkers. Mother showed us how to make paper airplanes and allowed us to go to the back of the train and let them fly. We managed to conquer boredom, when there was nothing else to do we quarreled with each other. The biggest challenge occurred when the refrigeration on the train shut down; on a four-day trip that was a serious problem.
Creative Mom worried about hydration, she was irritated by our constant complaints that we were thirsty. She did not approve of soda; she had to become creative. For “medicinal” purposes she carried a flask of whiskey. It was a swell disinfectant. The whiskey would sanitize the dirty ice put on board every day to backup the broken refrigeration system. How? Mom poured a bit of whiskey on the ice, swished it around for a time, then drained the whiskey from the glass and voila, we had clean ice to suck. I do not remember if she drained the whiskey by drinking it down. Perhaps she did!
Once that was solved and the refrigeration was being fixed, we kids found another way to harass Mom. Since there was no more ice cream on board, we repeated our refrain at every meal, “We want ice cream.” The porter took pity on us and explained that we were going to stop at Salt Lake City for a half hour that evening. There was a drugstore with ice cream across the railroad tracks; Mother could buy cones for us. When the train stopped she hurried us off and settled us under a streetlight, showed us that we could see the drugstore where she would get our cones and she would be right back. “Don’t move!” she cautioned.
My big brother looked around, his sense of importance leaped, he said, “Don’t worry, if anything bad happens, I will take care of you!” Until he opened his big mouth I had not thought to worry, Mother always kept her promises, of course she would return. However, once the seed of worry was planted, I began fantasizing, “What could happen?” By the time she returned with dripping cones, I was trembling. Thanks Ben!
The other highlights of that vacation included a bout with mumps that I endured. California required a city inspector and quarantine, so Mother found a tiny apartment and moved us into it temporarily so my cousin could go to work and other family members were able to come and go. We circumvented the quarantine, continued to take meals with the family. We got away with it, no one else became ill!
After the mumps we spent long days at the beach. We kids thoroughly enjoyed the sun, the sand and the surf. Dad sent us each a dollar every week so that we could treat everyone to ice cream; in those days an ice cream cone was a cheap treat.
During those vacation days of sun and fun, I told all who would listen, “When I grow up, this is where I will live.” In 1965, 38 years later, my husband came home with a question: “How would you feel about moving to California?” I answered before he finished, “I have been waiting years for you to ask!” 10/14